

I become your Heloise...In your home, I become your Heloise, feeling at once: low-class and enlightened by your beautiful life and your beautiful spirit.I become your Heloise...
And your sweet and subtle kisses- No I must never have kissed before! Your soft, safe arms hold
me, like I am being rescued from the wild, And oh, I am.
In this pitch-tar black bedroom
of your Virginia castle We, as eager lovers, whisper: to soothe each other from this intimacy, so great and overwhelming, and as to not wake your parents.


On Three LoversI. We were pinning corsages to lifetimes, Articulating some future- peach and pale yellow; Enumerating flaws. We twisted words and bones like putty, and yes, we said we loved, yes, we said we did, but-- we loved of one another only aspects, artifacts: the kind we could dig up, stick on someone else, and love just the same.On Three Lovers
II. We were testing the limits of fingers, cloaked by evening air. But when our faces turned-- human to one-night silhouettes, they hijacked momentary feelings And crushed them to a pulp. &nbs


ColumbiaHow dare you overlook this, my crumbling form. I, once your swan, now battered, torn 'tween the breaths we held amongst our words, and the fear, fearing the moments may fade; I still feel your laughter playing out of your mouth, coming to rest, stilling, softly, 'cross my breast. And now, this same figure, your administration has left. Memories- pawned off to wet your lips and my bones are weeping- cracking, crumbling-Columbia


Ballade 4 part 2It feels like Ive written you this note for the hundredth time. I just had to tell you that life is good and beautiful and I dont care about all the war and the hate and pain, I know it is inherently gorgeous and I see it reflected in the speckles of your eyes everyday and I long to speak the words that would mean so little in comparison to the emotion Id be feeling. Id say love and youd sift through your thoughts and think of your memories of love or lack of love and youd tell me, yes, yes you understand, but how do I know you understand? Words are so inert compared to what is corrupting my insides Ballade 4 part 2
--
No one I think is in my tree
It's truly gorgeous, dear.
Written 10 days before her death.
I sometimes fear I'll become like her, when I get older. I'm afraid I might see the goal of life as death, and discard all notions of love and relationships.
But then I remember she was a little crazy and, with some luck, I'm not.
--
No one I think is in my tree
--
No one I think is in my tree
And I would be dreadfully bored without you as well.
--
No one I think is in my tree
--
No one I think is in my tree
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