My Regrets

Your letter
is unkind to me.
You hurry
to the end
afraid
that I might do
things
to harm you
that I would press
my fingers
on your words
and
weigh you down.
I am nothing more
than a broken heart,
a cripple.
I have no arms
to harm you
to touch you.
I have only
my tongue
and my lips.
I borrow arms
and legs
from others
to write you
and send you
my regrets.

by A Waltz For Zizi

Comments (1)

A broken heart with the muse of love and pain. Nice work.