in the woods, scratching the bark with my lonely fantasies, you
were always near, the one to decipher my messages. True, I would guide
you, you couldn't have found your way alone. I wouldn't have
wanted you to. I loved holding the secret.
It's been thirteen years to the day since your last letter came,
a forest fell out of the envelope, fire blew off the bush, you see
I do remember and handwriting like someone opening his veins.
The charms you enclosed ("spitted flames") looked like the rubies
my mother piled on for shopping tennis anywhere anytime
she didn't give a hoot for propriety.
They kiss-kiss when I put them on.
But that's not what I wanted to say. I'm writing you because
she died yesterday I think you should know that
she kept on asking me When for godsake you
going to marry that boy
so handsome and lucky.
I didn't have it in me
to remind her you were dead.
So darling, should you meet her, I'm afraid
you have a little explaining to do.
I meant no harm by my deception, tell her that please,
and let me know
what she says because I hate to think this
is something you can’t read.