I used to write you love letters
with age-old tools
with pen and paper
with flowers delivered to your desk
with gifts left to be found on a car seat
But since then my love has found voice
in other media
in home-baked bread
in racks of clean dishes
in beds made, ready to be rumpled
I write letters
in gestures and gifts of freed time
I sing songs
in tiptoed footsteps on lazy mornings
I craft poetry
in items checked off to-do lists
After so long, so many years,
my words, mere words,
seem insufficient to relate
the depths and breadth
of my heart’s compass
But perhaps a cup of tea
that I know you want
presented without
your having to ask
speaks better of my devotion
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 