A letter came with
your return address in ink.
A blue envelope
no doubt to remind me of
your eyes and your moods.
That does not work anymore.
It sat unopened
on my desk for a few weeks.
Not to torture you
but to escape your torture.
You have things to say
but I've grown too old for this.
We've both grown too old for this.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem