Dear Emily Dickinson

Do you find me beautiful? Do you still want me around? It's hard to read your thoughts when I fall asleep next to myself. You gave me Emily, I gave you movie screens. Asked you to marry me. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm not a martyr. I'm not a saint. I never said that I was perfect, never said you were to blame. I wrote you poetry about the way we kissed. I guess its been a while. I just write grocery lists. Can you please get these things on your way from work? I wanna cook us dinner and make love afterward. I'm not a martyr. I'm not a saint. I never said that I was perfect, never said you were to blame. "When that which is. And that which was. Apart, intrinsic, stand" I'm still loving you the same.