That was beautifully written. I perhaps do not share the same appreciation for poetry that you do, but I certainly know beautiful description. Its a really special thing that I can inspire your work. I do mean everything I say and I'm glad that it means so much to you. It is pleasant to have a conversation with you without the old hysterics and theatrics. I expect us to continue communicating and enjoying our friendship like I feel we never could before. I must say that I recieved an unexpected joy from making you laugh. I missed that. :)
-Crystal
in reponse to what I wrote,
Hello Crystal,I hope you were sincere about everything you said over the telephone, because I'm taking it to heart. I'm happy that we're talking again.
I've been toying with a vivid memory that I've had of us for awhile. I was struck with a creative mood tonight, and I turned it into a poem. It's a little over-the-top, and perhaps a little inappropriate, considering where we are right now, but I wanted you to see it. Let me know what you think.
which I wrote
to introduce a poem,
Making Love
It was ours.
The night, after TVs stop blinking
but before coffeemakers starts dripping.
When the old day dies, and the new still wombs,
when real and surreal, desire and possibility
shimmy ever closer.
We lay in your bed. You whisper
with the eloquence and precision of a sonnet
or a speech. You sonnet-speech as if radiating
your dreams and your essence
to adoring hoards, like Stalin from a church-top.
But there is only me,
grasping onto your whispers as they fleet
into the un-echoing darkness.
I yearn to press my lips onto yours.
Not in lust, shuddering adolescent loins
or in testimony of my own wavering sexuality.
I want to press my lips onto the lips of my best friend
sweetly softly still
to be as close to her as possible.
which I wrote
about her,
after we reckoned and forgave
with the serenity and finality
of a dragonfly's perch on a stout lily pad.
And I don't quite remember