Poets Anonymous Ink: Stamped

My lover works in a post office and sometimes, in the middle of the night, he starts talking about the taste of envelope adhesive or he murmurs

about unsent letters.

He talks about parcels and how much they weigh. He mumbles about the cost of stamps or sometimes, when he’s sleeping and doesn’t know

I’m listening,

he talks about P.O. boxes and zip codes.

My lover describes objects you cannot mail.

He talks about hazardous materials & liquids & powders & lithium batteries & corrosive, flammable, explosive, & toxic materials.

Switchblades that are mailable only under certain conditions.

My lover works in a post office & sometimes,

I wake up to him



talking in his sleep.

& I know

I am


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