I’ve flown on frayed feathers
Carrying handwritten letters
Sealed by hot wax
Postcards, acceptances,
Love letters
I’ve seen them all
But never addressed to me
Not to me, not for me
Only for me
To deliver
Through forests
Past rivers
I endure storms
To make next-day delivery
I avoid interaction
To ensure the utmost quality
Until I tap on glass windows
Who- who- who–
Who’s there?
Why, it’s me
Who else would it be
Tapping on your second-story window
I wouldn’t know
I have caught countess scents
Of cologne and perfume
On paper
But I have never
Had the pleasure
Of opening
Does it show
Look at my papercut talons
And know
Not all creatures
Will ever
Know of
Romantic nature


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