love me like i love you (slow and small)

 

The pace of mail. So slow. Slow to create. Slow to transmit. Slow to consume. But never a slow open. I rip open the envelopes. I'm feverish and fiending. I slide letters into mailboxes and journals and dreams. Compact communication. Do you have dirt under your fingernails like I do? If so, I want to be so small I am planted in the dirt under your fingernails. Be there as you pick your teeth and bite you nails and move your hands about as your speak. Listen to you yap yap yap chaotic precious words to others, to yourself, to a empty room. Take my little notes and drop them on a box and even be there as you open them up. To be there as you open them up. Open up another piece of me. I don't need a lot, yet it's still too much.