Sonnets in the mail

 
Do you remember in our younger years,
Back when the air between us wasn’t stale;
When we were students, full of hopes and fears,
You used to send me sonnets in the mail.

This sweet surprise mid-week could mean so much;
Shakespeare on loose-leaf in your messy scrawl.
They were reminders of your gentle touch,
And I was happy to receive them all.

The words weren’t yours; it didn’t matter then.
To be wooed between classes – such delight!
It was your hands that touched that page and pen,
Those hands that thrilled me every weekend night.

But now it seems you have no need of rhyme;
You won your prize, and now you serve your time.