Your name is unique,
you and only you in the world
and every time I see a part of it
accidentally echoed
I think of you.

I know the shape of your name
like the back of your hand,
how it slopes away
like a Roman nose
from its initials, capital.

When I see it
on paper, in inbox,
it imprints.

When you write it, I feel the point of the pen,

Polysyllabic, it hardly trips off the tongue
but I say it to myself under my breath,
all four names,
a sibilant whisper
wishing there were more silent letters,
more shibboleths to hold,
secret keepsakes.

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