Did you get my letter,
its heart-stickered envelope
with no return address?
Did it arrive?
Did you take it inside?
Did you guess?
When you pulled out
the yellow page
and realized I was the writer,
did you read, anyway?
Did you unfold it?
Did you feel me?
Will you call?
I cast spells,
make wishes, rub paws,
sing our songs
so loud you might hear them;
strain my brain’s
telepathic range
to engage your heart
from this distance.
Did you get my letter?
Did you unfold it?
Did you recall
our first hug
just like I did
when I wrote it?
Do you feel me?
Will you call?
It’s in the mail. All I can do is wait for his call.
