Le Philatéliste

with every letter
between us 

we became one 

with each page 

you curled up 

on the sofa 

I rested in your lap 

those oblique & 

loopy lines 

revealing the seem- 

ing paradox 

of my being 

content yet all

the while free 

of content
you knew without 

my saying what

pains if not

pleasure I’d taken
tracing my tongue 

along the lip 

of that gooey 

bittersweet flap 

my fingers 

pushed open 

after making out     

an envelope 

to you

--Matt Morris

First appeared in Bindlestiff as "1981"