Open Relationship

By Ryan Flanagan

 

The mail

and I have an

open relationship

 

I could send a letter

to anyone I

want

 

a postcard even

from bizarre destinations

that may or may not

exist

 

stalactites gathering

over my head like

salty bats

 

a message of panic

of happiness

 

of questionable penmanship

admitting to unsolved

crimes

 

the cold ones

like walking into a

meat freezer

 

and fighting back

gooseflesh

 

that croupy morning cough

of smoker’s lungs

 

the way the skin on the backs

of your hands

cracks and bleeds

and stings

when you wash

them

 

this was all in my last letter

 

postage is a killer

these days

 

if you must know,

I lick every

stamp

 

oral sex for posties

 

and when I arrive

I hope that you are

curious

 

that the day has not

been long enough

to impersonate a

sword

 

I promise to write again

 

not to you,

I bore easily

 

and the mail

and I

 

have come

 

to an

understanding.