And well
My weeks
Bleed into
Each other
Like the
Ink bleeds
Through the
Paper
Of the letters
I write
I write one
Once a week
I've written
Almost
A half
Dozen by now
Because
In my life
That's how I count
My days
In the weeks
Ones
I write
To her
And I write
Conversations
To myself
Ones
You'll
Read
And I know
At least
Four more
Weeks
Until
She visits
Four more letters
I write
But willingly
Because
I know
The girl
That loves
Me
Is reading
Them
On the
Other side
