Draft

There’s a draft in my inbox

its unsent emotion chilling me

like the open window that I can’t close.

It’s a letter best left unsent

as an electronic, there is no delay for stamp

only a click delay: one finger worth 43 cents.

To let it rest and rust there,

devolving would lessen its value to me

but avoid evaluation by its target.

To disallow reincarnation in the psyche

of its addressee, and ignore the communication

so brazenly inscribed;

to let if freeze as a draft does

no.

I will get up and shut the window

not apparel myself with an extra garment

to shroud my goose bumps and purple skin.

Invest my 43 knucklecents to give truth

touch myself to make proof

that she loves me

she wants my honesty.

-Grant Durando