Epistolary Lovers (in Cinquefoil by Hannah Jones)
How ordinary are our gifts.
You send a book;
I send a scarf.
I enjoyed this one more than the others
I hear it is a cold winter in London this year.
We imagine each other engaged in simple tasks,
steeped like tea leaves in such simplicity.
You pause in front of the bookshop;
I compare thread counts, common colors.
You ask, Wilde or Shelley;
I wonder, what will match your coat.
I stood there undecided for more than a half hour until I realised my
fingers were pink and dry with late November
I pressed each scarf against my cheek, assessing
the quality of the wool and hoping when it arrived it
would still smell of me.
How ordinary, as are our names.
My H is clumsy;
your D is mundane.
So I chose by the smell of the binding,
I write with the love of wet ink
To entice your love I angle my letters and
hope you will be attracted to me.
We have no other choice but to impart
the greater loves within envelopes made of littler ones.
Will you know I have breathed concentration upon this corner
of my mother’s stationary? Will I know you wrote the same letter
three times before the ink didn’t blot?
We come together in postage packaging,
with the serrated thrills of foreign stamps.
When you read these words know that I mean more
than these words
When I am a better collection of love letters save me
in your desk drawer.
How ordinary our letters seem.
No one else will understand the desire in your H,
or the ecstasy in my D.
London fangirls, if anyone wants to set up an awesome fangirl commune at some point this summer, my housemate just told me she’s pregnant so I’m looking for somewhere to live!
Imagine sharing your tumblr squee with other fangirls, baking cool recipes only found in heartbreakingly beauty RPS stories from ten years ago, early morning streaming before work in a giant living room fort made of pillows and duvets so to be on the same time as America and copious drinking and perving on middle aged men with issues.
Ah, a girl can dream.
LONDONERS! Go and live the fangirl domestic dream with the amazing and beautiful cicaklah because I cannot.