you said what you did about wanting to be able to write a poem, but. did you forget about your love songs so quickly? (smile) i didn't pipe up with that piece of it at the time because the thing about the person and not the produced rings truest. it's you. not the things you put in my hands. (unless they are
your hands)

still i wanted to make sure to tell you. because how could you forget? at least, i can't.

you say such beautiful feltsleeved things. pictorally speaking (nice nonsense, huh), my socks are drooping and my nose and eyes are wet. and you were sweet, and warm. and i turned pink an awful lot. because the things you say aren't slotted for someone as sooty and small and inthecrackshiding as i am. but still. you say them and i still turn pink.

i still think we need a porch and a pitcher of lemonade.