how to fold an envelope 

bite your tongue. eat every penny 
you can find. savor the metal taste of
blood & knees. if you have an address
take all the mail you can. pretend
every junk letter was written just for you. 
most instructions are meant to be left
unfollowed. try to do a secret handshake 
with someone you just met. 
use a sturdy surface to crease the edges.
i memorize addresses better than names.
streets like packer & walnut & raspberry.
once i laid down & became a street. 
a monopoly game ensued. trees & plastic
fences with dog sounds behind them.
before we broke up i wrote you five letters.
i put them in a dead mailbox. i did not know
the post office didn't check that one anymore.
i should have figured it out. it was green & rusty.
not blue like the rest of them. 
in its belly, the envelopes unfolded & turned
into moths. the letters swarmed. each word
an ant. nothing we say is held together
by much. just a few breaths & a hunger
to know each other. i wonder often
in what way you miss me. like comets miss
their mother rock or like a movie night
from a laptop screen? everyone's feet make
a unique sound when they thunk across
hardwood floor. i write so many letters
just to watch them bang their heads against
my porch lamp. i lick a promise shut. 
buy stamps in the hundreds. 
i do not use a single one.