-
tin mailbox telephones.
our empty mailboxes
are connected
by tiny pieces of string.
(shhh.
listen.)
press your ear against it
and i’ll whisper,
i’ll say every word
i wasn’t brave enough
to speak before.
listen,
listen to the echo
of secrets
passing from my lips,
listen to the reverberation
of my heartbeat traveling
miles
and miles,
and miles,
and miles,
and miles,
to reach you.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
