Pieces of Me

There's a small piece of me.
It hops inside the letters I send you,
And it sees the world. Terrified by the white
In which it exists, it sticks and licks and sends away
Into guaranteed delivery (Neither Rain, Sleet, or Snow)
You open my envelope and I hop out,
And all of a sudden the piece of me in your palm,
Flat and smooth and traveled, sits up and speaks,
same as before,
says simply:
I love you.
Again and again.
Thousands of pieces of me.