With each word they tighten their fetters letters
and lengthen their chains. She swipes the notes he sends her, torment
locked in shining sheets, somehow there then
yet always beyond reach. Still she waits titillate,
with open hands, catching coin, never knowing stoking
the lips from which each leaf is torn – moans,
still, she prays, where spaces stood, his letters stand – pants,
still, where once he stood, she withstands grief pleas,
like pennies pounded thin, like thieving leaving
hands and mouths mutely confessing confetti
that most essential crime – the sin on
of lettering love. Even us judges then thin
cannot set them free. sheets.