Love letter # 548 Realising now. How I miss you. I thought I could walk away, but you are still with me. Coursing in my blood. In truth, you were my sanctuary. Now I feel exposed. Nearly raw. Yet really…it is not you; it is the feeling. I am sure I did not thank you…

Love letter # 534 An old song – one you introduced me to – and an idea. You breathe through the lyrics, and I feel again what I used to feel. The swoon. Your intoxicant promise. In a click I am searching you. What was last thing we said, typed? The slow, email coda of…

Love letter # 524 There is a tension in my jaw. It could be the fear of speaking up. So often we are punished for truth. Yet, if I reside in silence, what will it reveal? I can only guess how you might interpret it. For a state of not knowing is where I currently…

Love letter # 922 You/not you. I/not I. Outlines of a sketchily remembered tryst. Me on the dancefloor. You on the tennis court. A few bright days. Even fewer nights. Your eyes searching me. Was I the one? Were you? No…as we soon discovered. A spasm of lust – lips and hips and hands –…

Love letter # 587 In your presence I know who I am; not because you wield magic but because you give me permission. You create space with your acceptance, of yourself and, by extension, of me. Yours is the love that allows, and in that gracious latitude I stretch out, to touch you, and be…

Love letter # 521 If forced to say it aloud, I would say that I did not need you. Did not love you. Nor even want you. Yet, in these absences, space for something undefinable. This ineffable attraction, the desire that will not be reduced to its description. Here now, the mystery that draws me…

To Eleanor. To all of you.

We met at a café and got talking. Then, as one long black turned into another, your story came out. Easier to tell a stranger. Our friendship lasted less than two hours but your words – your resignation – came home with me, where they have sat in my heart like a ring of thorns….

Love letter # 667 The bells may not have rung for us, yet you will chime in my memory, like a wave beneath my skin, subtle and buried, but still there. Though you will likely forget, I will house the archive of tender seconds in the sediment of passing days. For the briefest moment I…

Love letter # 510 Time and separation make little difference. You are burnt into me. What looks like perfect skin to others is the mask of your presence – the burnished shell of your departure. I have been shaped by the hand of our union. I still keep the secrets you whispered, walk as though…

She reminds me of you

Some things are known before they are known. Like winter; and the logic of its freeze. I felt her retreat before I saw it. Inching back from intimacy and the fear of being seen. That’s why I’m writing to you. Because you understand. There is no need for detail; save that her wounds once bled…