In the end, today comes back I’m left behind in the everyday tracing yesterday again I toast my dry bread quietly Like butter before the toast awkwardly, something spills I wish a little bird were there to peck at what I spill If this warmth is not enough for you would even someone else’s poem left unread and left unsolved not be for me to read? I’m half asleep my fingertips are warm I’m half asleep still, my fingertips are warm A love letter lost in paperwork a final message overlooked which one would you find beautiful? which one would make you look? Somewhere in the world, I know there are forgotten things somewhere in the world, I know forgotten things remain If this warmth is not enough for you would even someone else’s poem left unread and left unsolved not be for me to read? I’m half asleep my fingertips are warm I’m half asleep still, my fingertips are warm A love letter lost in paperwork a final message overlooked which one would you find beautiful? depending on your answer, I— There are forgotten things but the last touch on my neck won’t be yours