A Message I Won’t Send

Tell me everything.
Pour the whiskey before we sit down.
Sit across the table from me, it’s the decent thing to do, I am taken.
I wrote to you on a midnight when I wasn’t.

I am, as ever, taken with you.

I agree with the sentiment of your parenthetical statement
where you hesitantly admitted ([I] was the one that got away)

(You were, too.)

The world suffers from a lack of our could-have-been love letters.
I pity the historians,
What will they have to turn to?

I’m in love again. You missed the window of opportunity. It is a kind of love that doesn’t involve many love letters. A love with a language barrier. I am a woman built of words. It’s confusing, how it worked out.

It never would have worked out between us
but we would have written a lot of beautiful things.
We would have been insufferable.
We’d have proposed marriage to each other a thousand times,
Every block of Brooklyn cement
would have known the kiss of our bended knees.
We’d always be dreaming up more romance.
We’d never have time for the actual thing.

You kept a chocolate easter bunny that I gave you,
tucked away in your freezer,
for three years after I moved away.
I kept your name frozen in my sighs for about as long.

But in the end, I am searching for the kind of man
who would eat the chocolate
without hesitating.


Bits and Pieces

The way you kiss the top of my spine when you walk by
I can tell you woke up loving me today,

How you always stop me from picking at my fingers and you say
You want your Alessandra in one piece

“How do you put up with her?”

“I’m sorry I don’t know the phrase…”

“It means she is asking you how you got so lucky to find a woman like me.”

He had his fingers gently curling through the hair at the nape of my neck, but he took his hand away and I said,

“Why did you stop?”

“Because I have to be able to walk out of here”

You can’t read this,

But hear me,

You are loved.

Rebecca has thin lips but looked like she would be a good kisser if I gave her the chance. She dresses in green, a habit turned obsession. Green sweater, green jacket, and even her pens and journal are green. I typically wear too much red.

Together, we look like a Christmas gift. One worth unwrapping.

There were a lot of ways I almost loved you,
a lot of details we both held onto
and in enough time it’s funny which ones you kept and which ones I did.
It’s strange how we split the difference.

For example, I remember every time you kissed my forehead.
I have chosen to forget the moments we actually kissed,
the hips pressed into hips,
the night on the carpet when I was moving out of the country.
I had sold my bed and I invited you over to my place,
The evening smelled like bourbon
and the plastic of a deflated air mattress
And it sounded like the zipper of a closed suitcase
and I left New York, to go get married, and I did.