peanut butter and honey

there's a letter under your bed, but you'll never read it.
i've sealed it with wax, like they did back then.
it doesn't say anything important, really.

remember the time we made those peanut butter sandwiches?
the honey you drizzled on top, soaking into wheat bread and making something i thought was beautiful.
heavy on our tongues, sweet in our throats.
crumbs on your chin, on my lap, on the floor.

it's sealed in wax and maybe someday the landlord will find it.
read it, fold it up, tuck in away somewhere because it seems like it's important.
but really, it's not.
not anymore.