I was a love letter you blithely tore
with your slender yet firm fingers
that you submerged into the
mud of disgust before they have found their way to me.
My words that proudly voiced out
how a simple, quick glimpse on your eyes
can make my cheeks go rosy
and cause falls of pure bliss to burst forth
from the inwards of my heart,
trembled under the eerie and rough
caress of your hand,
before they have been wiped out, shattered in the murk.
I wish you had read me first,
silently, or in an undertone.
If only you had tried,
I may now be in your wallet,
or probably in your shirt’s pocket, so close to your chest.