Who knew that a question could be

So touching,

So brave, heroic,

And yet so terrifying?

All questions deserve, require, and demand


(ANd I know that the wax is solidifying;

SWEar to me that it won't be corrupted by dust,

Real black-ink decisions can always be crossed out,

But thank God for white-out, if you have any that I can borrow.)

Salty but mistaken for bittersweet,

It's coming to you in the mail

Coming right now;

Your tail is wagging― leave the mailman alone

He's only the messenger; put the gun down.

Sealed with blue and

(Please! Not for sale! Not to be accepted for potential antiquity!)

Warmed and chilled and

Shaken and acidic,

There's some bizarre cocktail of emotion

In the ink and in the hands (upon opening) ―

Framing the wrong answer in black

As the heart sniffles and trembles,

Sinking dejectedly, into a lonely recess by the stomach.

…I meant to say yes.