Come find me in the spaces between words
and seek out in the things I could not say
the more I left unwritten and unheard
and trusted you to read some other way

In ragged margins and in paragraphs
I’ve charted out the pattern of your smile
and laugh and elsewhere I have calligraphed
your silhouette, transcribed your heart’s profile

Dear Madam, it begins: I’ve tried again
to find a salutation that will fit
between the shapes made by my heart and pen
in sentences the letter will omit

I have no courage to set down in ink
the phrases that I hardly dare to think

The only thing I hate more than sonnets is Shakespearean sonnets. Iambic pentameter is the worst meter. Fight me.