harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
i sent you my love ticked (x marks the spot) on a postcard from my roman holiday -- put it in a letterbox on the way to trastevere -- when i was boiling hot, with sweat running at the back of my thighs, the way it did on yours once, when you bent me over the arm of the fauteuil -- deflowered me once more with my petals all over the floor -- i saw with my hair dangling on the carpet, my cheeks gone scarlet -- when i walked the streets in the city of rome i was quite happy to be on my own -- my shoes stepping over the tramlines as the sky grew purple. i'll love you from afar if that's the least i can do, you know that, don't you?
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