The mailbox

It may move or want, you say
Move you to wonderful applause,
Held perks for astonished echoes
You hear stories like these,
They may have an ending,
Mark the velocity’s end to analyze
Indulge wide open, mercy a lie
A talk, a glance, a reply

Passive
Here lies the glue
That a top heavy intro
Is enough to warrant
A claim, a cry
Thinner
It may have
A claim delivers

The sediment grounds all sentience
It can hold the skeptic’s grasp
No language can contain water
Fill the beige stained envelope
With calculus - the life’s grin