Love letter # 49

If only you could feel the fire – then you would know – and I wouldn’t need these tepid stand-ins, these words that say nothing.

I have no langauge for these tides. This ocean will not fit into a cup.

I would fumble. You would run. I would seem mad. You would seem cruel. Fear would win.

Better to love you quietly tonight. Wiser to forget where the phone is.

I might pray instead – seek the elusive favour of angels – speed some helpful cupid your way. They would say it better than me. They would let you know.

Until then … just words – and their stubborn little sibling. Hope.

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Love letter # 15

It started with a fire. A fire in my heart. And all my smart tricks turned to ash. I thought I was the king of everything – and then there was you – beautiful, beautiful, beautiful angel.

And now I am breathless. Now I am a feather on the breeze. Now I am the dancer – and you the song, you the sound of wonder. Even on my knees I am flying.

Tonight I walked in luminous golden vespers, in velvet evening. With my music. With my dreams of you, my love. And when it rained, I danced between the droplets – as though to hold you in my arms.

In the soft kiss of evening I felt you beside me; I could almost smell you. Your feminine power made my poor boy blood thicken. If there is a god – she is a goddess.

All that male arrogance – my so called vision of things – my pristine ordered cosmos – its stones are strewn about.

I walk now in a lovely desert of cinders, where detail melts to heat, where horizons blur the boundaries. In this smudged terror, in this new cathedral – oh my beauty, you are the queen. These tears are but jewels. Euphoria is despair.

When I love you I am without sin. When I love you everything is in sync. So what if there’s a cut or five. A little blood on the lino. Damn the cowards. What do they know?

Burn everything.

If there is a wall, it is folly. Reduce the streets to scratches. Make nothing that is not made of love.

And now … I type. Splendour into syllables. Words in semi darkness. I have no idea where you are other than in my heart. I dance my half of our dance because it is still wonderful.

Here in the golden light – here in the golden light … your breath on my neck – your kisses sweet.

But before you click away from this; I know I this seems unhinged. I still have those Western eyes. Two and a half years ago I too would have scoffed.

I know better now.

Love letter # 21

Heaven is made up of ordinary treasures – like your breathing as you sleep next to me – like the scent of you in the darkness.

You are the one.

This must be what miracles are – under this roof with you. I feel the warmth of your skin – your nearness like opium. I can scarcely believe it.

You are the one.

I came here to shiver – to surrender – to wake up in your presence. I am the lucky one.

And you are the one.

Love letter # 2

I saw you today – and I know you saw me. Your eyes gave you away.

I saw your shoulders turn to rock. I felt the blade of your contempt. I did not hide from it.

If you want your measure of blood, let me tell you – this floor is scarlet. I am not too proud – and I know what a broken heart is. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone – and you were never just anyone.

I know you won’t believe it – but I wish you would. I wasn’t cruel I was just stupid. Hurt maybe – scars leftover. Sorry that I passed them onto you.

But please don’t re-write history. It was real. I loved you. I wanted you. It was wonderful. I wasn’t lying when I said you were my angel.

I remember the tenderness in your eyes – the softness in you. I pray it’s still there. Walk away with the beautiful bits – leave the shit behind.

Love letter # 101

How could I have known that my ten o’clock would turn out to be you.

I had no defences deployed – no armour against eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for your gorgeous mouth, the curve of your shoulders, the hint of freshly showered skin. Now I’m butterflies.

Or perhaps I’m just an overly optimistic angler, misinterpreting tugs as bites. Maybe you’re like this with everyone.

I’ve been around long enough to have no idea.

I look at the scar lines etched all over me and I wonder if I can bear another. I wonder if no is worth the chance of yes. Or vice versa.

I have your number. I could call you this minute. I’m sure I could invent a pretext.

Ah, but the sensible adult thing would be to do nothing; to mark it down to the enervating effects of spring sunshine and good coffee. Safer that way. I walk off with a little caffeinated buzz on – maybe catch you in the course of things and see if those opal eyes are still flashing lovely fire at me.

Either way, beauty is transforming and you have changed my day – probably my week. In all likelihood these syllables will vanish into meek but totally mature silence and neither of us will ever have to be embarrassed.

But just in case …

Love letter # 38

Before you were someone else’s wife, before I was a ruin, we were children.

You are a distant angel, carved out of memory. It seems impossible that you are now only half an hour away – that you will be seated across from me. I will walk in that door, I will spot you, you will smile. Maybe you will brush your hand across the back of mine.

I never said it then – I never could. The words got mired in my dread. I adored you.

Okay, it was a hormonal teenage thing – but even now I can feel it in my body. It is a tide. It is the ocean itself.

I’ve seen your picture online – I know what the years do to a beautiful face. But I wonder – do the years put out fires? Perhaps we just retreated into the surrounding dark and left the embers glowing. Perhaps this is the morning.

Forgive me if I get ahead of myself. I bear no expectation – it’s simply that the long silent sweetness wants to whisper through the tiny cracks, to at least exhale its tender treasure.

And that is what is this letter is for. I hope that I have courage to give it to you.

There – I said it.

Love letter # 7

… and in a blinding, beautiful flash – you.

You have changed me. Perhaps you did not mean to – but you have. Not that I was bad before – just a fool who knew nothing. Now at least I am a fool who knows you.

Everything is clear now – if a little raw. The light is sharp sometimes. The heights are airless. And flying always contains the lure of falling. But those who will not fly are grounded. They have the dirt and nothing more.

Even if I am left with only the memory of you it will be a good deal more than old rock. For sure, it will be diamonds.

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