Maybe I should have started the letter with 'Dear', after all. I regret that a little. You see, it wasn't meant to be offensive in any way, rather it was meant to be affirmative. Maybe it was the frame of mind I was in, it being the first thing I did upon arriving in Melbourne all doe-eyed and pensive. I set my bags, didn't even change, snatched the letter from my table, read it twice, grabbed a pen, notepad and set about writing a reply.
I was just lonely. And you're in love. And I'm not. And I suppose I'm a tad sad with my loveless-ness. Or maybe I've read too much of kero-jin correspondences and expected too much of you. But all this is normal between us isn't it?
I misinterpret this world too often perhaps. Alas.
Ton sans amour ami,
P.
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The red ballad of a dislocated heart
echoes like a tuning fork, rings aloud
its invisible reverberation begets
a trajectory of revelations.
The scarlet throat opens
its arcane bouquet, of roses
blooming in a flurry of petals
swallowing all, fades away.
___________________________________________________________________________
Written for M. in a letter today, in which I poured myself away.
(29th July 2012)
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