I’ve been meaning to tell you
That the new moisturiser
Is working well and that
This city doesn’t let me
Get out of the fortress
Of a warm bed and a comforter

I’ve begun to run
A thousand errands
And work late into the day
I’ve begun to live
With a persistent fear
Of complacency, coming and calling
And staying at home
Like an unwelcome guest

I’ve been meaning to write to you
And tell you about how my day went
But who writes letters anymore
Who puts pen to paper
To trace feelings
But I would love to
Write you a poem
Maybe, someday