Letters found
in an attic.
Written by hand unknown.
A century ago.
To fresh-faced feline-graced
belle.
A maiden fare,
who would flush a cheek
at the chaste kisses
The brazen beau seeks.
And yet,
months and time go on
and kisses turn to caresses.
Embolden by replies
and flitted flirting flick of an inky rise.
The courting "if I may"
turns to a fiancée's "I would like"
and on to a solider husband's saucy "I will take."
Then gone,
Letters stop.
As war wins this game.
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