Poem 78 Revised

I can remember coming home to post-it notes
clinging calmly to lamp shades, docked to doorknobs
And when I collected them all in a pile I signed
Imagining all summer where they might be hidden
where you might tuck them away, what color pens
you would choose to scribe over and over
I love you I love you I love
 
A quiet reflection, with each smoothed in my hands
fumbling with the frailty of love, paper love lingers
smooth to the touch like egg shells; impossibly cool.
Love is the prettiest word to behold on a post-it. 

Sad to see them bundled together, more self piteous than sad.
I love you I love you I love… afternoons post, opening drawers;
emptying boxes, rearranging shoes harboring hideaway post-its
Held quite still, clutching the confetti between my fingers,
this paper, this love, hinged on hangers, crumpled in corners
boarded in book ends: not infinite, not over yet.
—ECW

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