Dearest love of mine,
Your paintings are ghosts at the corner of the room.
A vivid mystery its colors bring-how I miss the brushes stroke in action by your hand.
I began hanging them in frames for the feeling you're with me.
Is it so wrong to miss you?
Never will it be.
- Elise
YOU ARE READING
Letters of Elise
PoetryA compilation of letters from a woman in love by what's lost.
