I still think about how beautifully
your image played in water light,
that first click of intelligence when
two perfect strangers fell in love
with each others minds sparking
some steamy renditions of how reality
was going to play everything out.
If I could step outside myself today,
I'd match my resistance to yours,
pretending it all belonged to someone
else's life; indifferent, yet supremely
tactful as you have been with your
silence. I suppose it makes you a
gentleman, to have severed
the lines of communication between us
with your best intentioned snobbery
that will fade long before my heart closes
the door behind it--if it ever does. You
think me deceitful; I find you lacking in
basic human kindness, and still there's
this unprecedented closeness that creates
loneliness and pain. There isn't much to me
you know; I have brown eyes, dark hair, fair
skin, an unexceptional nose, and a curvy figure.
I'm tall, giddy and goofy when comfortable
with friends, distant with acquaintances. I write
my soul in my prose, retreating safely back
within myself when all is said and done.
There's an unconditional intimacy that shines
forth between reader, between author, and I'm
proud of that, thankful for the connection. It
is true that I am unhappily married in name only,
and what of it? I challenge anyone to judge me,
but aren't we all straight jacketed enough? And
what of human passion guided by deep love?
What of the words, immortalized by your touch?
Shall they die in social convention waiting for the
reincarnation of another poet, of another writer?
If you won't support the element of magic which
sprang from our association, then I will. I will
recreate it in my writings, mending what is broken,
living with you among the strange mingling of
intellectualism over outrageous norms that strangle
us of life itself.
In my strength of character, in my rebellion and
power of feeling, there is honesty and truly intense
sincerity; unfeigned emotion. Your presence is my
inspiration, beloved, where years from now, many
will hear how my heart and spirit cried out to you,
in that which you called "a lie," and in my immortality
of voice and of love, you will forever remain the hero
of my unfinished novel!