by Ted Kooser
If this comes creased and creased again and soiled
as if I'd opened it a thousand times
to see if what I'd written here was right,
it's all because I looked for you too long to put it in your pocket.
Midnight says the little gifts of loneliness come wrapped by nervous fingers.
What I wanted this to say was that I want to be so close
that when you find it, it is warm from me.