That Fragrance

A poem about those unsent letters

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

My thoughts are sitting quietly with me
they wait for me in that jar called mind
till I pick them one by one
and dress them with stars
a proof I am alive in my words.

I write them in a language
understood by moon.
I know it will be a scribbling
understood by poets.
I write and let the poem
be that unsent letter.
A fragrance for loved ones.