The Typewriter
In the auction yesterday I got my hands on an old typewriter;
Someone was giving it away to run away from reminiscences of it.
All the letters it must have written,
I am sure, have told some striking love stories.
For me these typewriters are more passionate
Than the leather bound pricey journals and blue pens.
But there is a little bit of something about my cursive script that feels like
I’m just writing all my unsent loving words from my wrist to you and to me
That is a piece of my soul which I can offer to you.
In the auction yesterday I got my hands on an old typewriter;
Someone was giving it away to run away from reminiscences of it.
All the letters it must have written,
I am sure, have told some striking love stories.
For me these typewriters are more passionate
Than the leather bound pricey journals and blue pens.
But there is a little bit of something about my cursive script that feels like
I’m just writing all my unsent loving words from my wrist to you and to me
That is a piece of my soul which I can offer to you.
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