And so just the Lady in Green remains, though since that poem I've started
to value prose over poetry, it seems more true to life, true to my life.

Maybe I'll wear the blue shirt tomorrow, wrap myself in a smell that isn't
my smell, maybe it's just the detergent but it's different.

You've had many torches carried for you.  I like to think that even if the
time wasn't there, mine meant something more to you, that something in the
prose or the kiss has reached you in a way that some others haven't, that
when you joked about living with me but getting Kyle to prepare food,
that there was something there once.

Veronika showed me a book, "Written on the Body", a beautiful work of
feeling and desire, the narrator has many lovers yet you never find out if
it is a man or a woman speaking.  The narrator's lover says "I'm going to
leave him because my love for you makes any other life a lie."  I'm not
going to be able to say that to anyone until my feelings for you go.  Will
they fade?  Maybe.  I thought they were fading before, maybe it's all a
matter of forgetting your kiss, forgetting your touch, forgetting your
voice, forgetting your laugh, forgetting your beauty, forgetting when you
said you liked my scent, forgetting your grace and how sensual you can be.
That forgetting all of these will move me apart from you.
My fear is that my feelings are greater than the sum of those parts.

please, please write back.  tell me how to forget, or tell me what you
feel, or... something.  Don't leave me out here forever alone in the
electronic wilderness with nothing but my Blender for warmth...

yours for a kiss
ever kirk




PS Kyle's prose-poem.  i pinned the title "As it happens" on it, he
seemed to think that that name was ok

        "Who told you this would be easy?" she said, eyes glittering like
sea-wet stones. A flush, gentle as rain, rose in her cheeks.
        Nobody, nobody, the voice in his head clammered, I'm sorry, sorry,
my love, it is blessed, it must be; I cannot ever deny love.
        At that moment he met her eyes and it occured to him that we live
only in moments, arranged as it happens.  Someday we shall live entirely
in nothing but a single kiss.