Tag Archives: Contemporary love letters

Love letter # 792

You have populated my dreams, day and night. Last night, you placed your hand upon my knee, and I felt your warmth. It woke me. I turned over to the mirage of your presence, and in the drowsy temple of my senses I could hear your breath, circling in the darkened hush.

Walking in the blue afternoon, I watch the wave of your hair, note the sun in your eyes. You fall upon me like brightness, moving through my body like the ruffle of breeze. Still you are a vision. A dreamt of kiss. An embrace imagined. The prayer of tenderness returned.

If I have loved you in the room of disembodied desire, so too I have yearned in the realm of flesh and blood. Perhaps it is only the invented you who walks at my side, yet I have travelled long in the wake of your attention. You have said my name aloud and I have suffered the vertigo of your scent.

Therefore, I conjure you beneath sun and moon, such that I may require no such vision. So that one day soon I may close my eyes and know that you are near; and I might sleep through the night in the valley of your form.

Love letter # 464

Sometimes, your beauty is rupture. Wrenching. It rends the fabric of compromise. You stand within touching distance yet remain untouchable. The lovely details, each one sharpened. I feel them as the severing of hope. Your splendour is the sentence passed. The inexorable chasm between desire and its return.

Raher I had not seen you. For yours is the flower given elsewhere. Its perfume is the unbreachable fortress of time. It unfolds before the sun, to the bees of the season, and has not thought for the dews of the morrow.

I am that invisible mist; and though I might enfold you, mine is the vaporous touch, barely felt. Yet you are the solidity of hunger. The intolerable gravity. Force without attraction. The strained and breathless orbit of noticing. For some shall weep at stars and never know their warmth – and you shall be like fire.

Love letter # 490

Did it happen while we weren’t looking…or when we were? Was it our turning away or our insistence? Not that it makes much difference now. Knowing won’t make you love me again. Nor I you. Yet, as I ponder the detritus, I am drawn ever closer to an abrasive conclusion; that we brought down the sky in a tussle over dust. These grubby specks are the trophies of ruin. This, the Pyrrhic victory of vane and selfish campaign. If I once threw up a wall thinking to keep things together, instead it drew a line between us, entrenching rival empires, who fought till the end of time, and left the scene with nothing. Save the evidence of blood.