Nobody writes love letters anymore.
Romance has been forced to extremes to
Prove itself. Grand public displays that
Millions witness on tiny screens.
Most of the time, it comes purchased.
Sign of the times; zeitgeist love.
It’s as if love letters have
Transformed into anathemas.
Who has time to read anymore?
Why write when you can buy fancy trips
And sparkling jewelry. We dress love-up
Like a whore to be bought and sold
On restless, pointless whims.
They must be grand, they must show off,
They must say something giant because
This love can’t say anything else.
It came to appear that only the rich could
Afford true love.

The beauty of love letters is they never had to
Prove themselves. You didn’t even need to
Read between the lines. Effort was present
In every single scribbled centimeter. Love
Imbued every last syllable with care and
Affection beyond what tropical paradise and gold
Could obtain in their petty wages.
Love was deeper than that,
And the more you read the letters
(Charms of a sweetheart,
Passions of the obsessed,
Reflections of lovers),
The more love spiraled down
Our souls with fractal, amorous blessings.