Curls

Smother me, I can take it.

There are worse ways to die than tangled up in you.

Not a restraint, merely a disguise, a tantalizing display of plumage.

Not a fire, though you make me ignite.

Not a drop of cold ocean, but a dark sea of curling delirium.

There is gasping for breath and a fair amount of sensory deprivation, but I'd never complain. To breathe even for a moment this sweet clean scent; to see just a glimpse through this tangled canopy-- it's enough. I'd much rather be here, in the forest, watching the wildlife do its thing.

Out there are complications, salutations, social mitigations... I want to smile for hello, and to throw polite out with every single elastic I've acquired.

Why quell this sweet madness? You deserve to be celebrated.

Tell Rapunzel never to let you down again.

Tell her to let you free.

Yours, Truly.

Romance Novels

Dearest Friend(s),

I glow with happiness that you grace the earth with your presence. I crave your strong text to whisk me away. We'll elope to far off lands, where I get to be sexed up the princess, the lady, the heroine... Instead of the undergraduate student, the ungrateful daughter and the listless insomniac. You take me, as I love to be taken.

I feel the anticipation building, longing to run my fingers up your spine. I hold you close, clutching your sides, as I look at you--into you. Penetrating deeply, and grasping what is inside. At your climax I gasp for breath, breasts heaving I struggle to take it all in. Then the dénouement-- I lie quivering on the bed soaking it all in, just taking in your soft and comforting words.

You tell me what I want to hear and I love you for it.

Your decadence is comical to some, but my fluttering heart disagrees.

I want you-- every word, every inch. The thicker the better.

Yours, Truly

PS. this might have been one giant "that's what she said" joke... who knows.

Oh My Love

My Darling, I've hungered for your touch. A long lonely time... approximately exactly one year. How have you been?

There's been a lot of gossip about you lately. The usual things: you're not a real holiday, you're never good enough, you're just commercial, and you don't care about people's real feelings. I know they're just rumours. You've never tried to hide what you are--

A chocolate lover, a flower lover, a lover.

Haters Gonna Hate. But why hate on something that we all need?

You don't need to be dressed up, glittered and glammed over the tippy-top (as people seem to anticipate) to be beautiful. A simple word, or a hug, a call home to Mom and Pop-- those are the things that make you so worthwhile and wonderful to me. The humble appreciation for everyone we care about is an important thing that often isn't expressed enough. You give us that kick in the pants we need.

So thank you, Valentine's Day, for telling me what I want to hear.

I love and appreciate you too.

Yours, Truly.

________________________________________

Ps. I also just really love excuses to give out handmade cards, I'm bad-ass with a pair of safety scissors.

Ice Ice Baby

I see right though you. This little tough guy act.... you're trying to trip me up, trying to be cool (though you're just being cold). Let me tell you now: it's not going to work.

I don't like you now, in the bleak midwinter... You get too enthusiastic, if that makes sense. Frisky to the point of pain. I may be a bit masochistic but you've become too much for me. You want to play when I'm trying to get to important meetings, when I'm trying to climb stairs, when I have other things on my mind, and lemme tell you, it's getting old.

You lie in wait outside doors, creeping over the eaves of my childhood home. you point and laugh from rooftops everywhere I go... waiting for your moment. You backstabber. Your icicle fingers of malice tricked me in the summer months. You were so chill, so sexy, as you traced my body with your melting heart... You always made the best daiquiris...

Now you lie in wait disguising yourself as the ground, stalking me, but it's okay. I've always loved you better in the summer. You're somewhat of a fair-weather friend. I get that.

And I like you in small doses, so I await the days of sunshine and your creamy texture.

Vanilla please.

Yours, Truly.

Studies on Sleep

Tonight you elude me.

Forever your mysteries intrigue me.

I daydream (it's never enough):

You and I finally meet (the wait is excruciating) with no need for formalities.

You disarm me. Slowly.

We bathe, entwined in silence.

Only (my breath) filling the space between us.

- - -

The pilgrimage to your door is unpredictable and I, dressed for hunting, am sorely unprepared.

Like some mythical creature you stalk me, waiting to reveal yourself-- as always, at your leisure.

My fire burns low and red. The embers look like the insides of my eyelids, when the day rings harsh and you have left me.

I was never going to find you because you are never to be found.

And that, is the hardest part.

- - -

Touch me, I need it. I need you.
My body aches for your embrace.

It dwindles, slowly slumping into sporadic puddles of inappropriate emotion.

Wanting you more than any other basic need.

I can't think in straight lines, thoughts are singswoopjingleclomp-ing.

higgledy-piggledy-ziggity-zag.

The face, whiskers askew, jeers at my plight.

Taunting, ticking, talking, tocking.

When will you arrive?

Touch me, I neeeeeeed it.

- - -

Postcard From My Mother:

Hello my Pumpkin.

I am trying the snail mail because you never answer my calls.

How is your sleep? You know it's so important!

Enjoy as much as you can.

-Mom

Email To My Mother:
Hey Mommy,
Sleep is fine, it went on holiday for a bit, strangely at the same time I did. But has since returned and we are doing fine. I don't know what you're on about, I called you this past weekend. Remember we told you about our trip to Cartoon India and the flying carpet? And how I keep turning into a cat? And that doughnut sex tape?

Sometimes I think you don't care about my dreams.

Yours, Truly.

PS. Sleep says Hi to Daddy.

Hospitals

You scare me.

It could be the smells... The rubbing alcohol and floor cleaner with overtures of too many unhappy faces... and the occasional whiff of vomit. When I get a needle, or a new medication in my IV, I can smell it, no matter how many times your minions tell me I'm imagining it. In the emergency waiting room I smell fear. Tears and sweat and utter despair. 40 people in front of me having their worst day, and the smell follows me.

And the worst of all is the sickly sweet and insidious smell of the rubber when you come to try 50 times to take my blood. It smells like vanilla that has been run over by a burning truck tire... and my blood smells like salt and batteries.

Maybe it's the memories I have of being trapped within your countless walls-- memories that still haunt my sleep. I wake up already sobbing and short of breath saying "don't make me go, don't you dare make me get better".

But it was never the getting better that was the problem.

It was the endless waiting, the excruciating pain and the days (to weeks) without food that come with getting better that make me afraid to go back. Make me afraid to be sick. But worse than that, afraid (once I'm sick) to start getting better...

It could be the tiny boxes that you try to put us in.... Your consumers seem to have come to be Zoo animals for a day. In a cage with no walls, open to the air. Open to the eyes-- staring, questioning, curious. The one time you want to suffer in silence, in secret; you look your worst on purpose but the gawkers won't take a hint. You become a stuffed owl for the masses of other sick people and hospital employees.

Maybe it's just the opposite.

Not that there are too many stories, eyes, smells--- but that within the midst of hundreds of people, you are the loneliest place I can think of....

Yours, Truly

Hot Accents

Sooo hi... I'm writing because I'm embarrassed to speak in front of you.

You're all smoky and rounded and I feel like I'm all thumbs... I mean... all consonants. I like to just close my eyes and listen to you purr. I think "take me! teach me!" but that doesn't help...

I realize that I'm objectifying you... maybe that makes me a bad person... or just a bad feminist, I don't know. All I know is, I could sit enthralled while you told me about your fascination with snails for hours. (Maybe not snails... but something else generally considered quite boring.)

Lately I've been walking into you--clouds of you-- on a regular basis. I really can't complain, I thoroughly enjoy the change in tone. So move over Mister Darcy and let me sit by you and yours.

Let me be silent while I bask in the memories of far-off places I loved so dearly and wish to see again...

Let me cup my ear to your throat to hear the ocean standing between us...

Let me watch as lips sculpt your features...

Let me breathe you in and taste your wonders...

Let me know that accents aren't everything...

But that you still want to taste mine. (I'll let you...)

Yours, Truly.

Health

I need to stop.

I've written you a letter before this, though I never sent it, never showed anyone. And I was proud of that letter-- the writing, the sentiment... But I guess it's not true anymore, so you will never see those words.

I am stumbling my way down a slight incline.

I dream about you sometimes, and usually I wake up forgetting that I'm not allowed to be happy. Not with you. And when it hits me, it hits low. It takes the wind right out of me. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I am too sad for tears.

Are you waiting to catch me... or watching me fall?

One thing that bugs me... I don't even know if I ever had a chance, or if my fate was decided from the beginning. Was it something I did? Is my life now just some twisted punishment? What is it, I don't deserve you?

I've been here before, and I just keep coming back.

It's been hard to change the way I think, my reflexive reactions. I forget sometimes that you are gone. Some days I act like you're still here until something snaps and I'm in pain. "Oh yeah," I think, "it's like that now."

Do you know how easy life would be if I could stay away?

I am trying. Trying to live differently. I don't want to live like you don't exist, and I can't physically live like you are a part of my life. So I am left with living like I don't need you. I don't need you. But I'm still learning that. I'm new to this.

I might actually be more happy without hope... Do other people understand that?

I hope everyone feels lucky today, lucky to have you.

Because they will never understand me, not until you are gone from them too.

It's sad, but it is the truth.

Let's leave the light-switch, and keep them in the dark.

Not Yours... Truly.

Lubrication

Mmmm... oh hey you.

Thank goodness you're here, I was about to get desperate!

You know, I am acquainted with some people who have not discovered the joys of your touch.... poor things. What gets me is your versatility, if I want to be warmed up, you get to rubbin'--- I'm feeling frisky and you tickle me juuuuust right.

I see you're trying a new look, and what's that I smell? cha-cha-cherry?? Yum, get over here you stimulating strumpet.

I want you to rub me down and get me off. Don't you go slipping out the door now, just once is never enough... Like the Eurythmics sing it, I want to use you baby.

Whatever your name is--and you have many--I want to say now on behalf of women everywhere, and okay, the men too... You make life better. You spend your days, and allll of your nights making people happy.

Hell, I bet that Mister Jiffy went into car repair just so he could appreciate you properly, get your name on a biiiiiig sign and smile one of those special secret smiles that you seem to elicit every time he looked up.

Babe, I don't say it enough but, I Love You.

(even if you don't always hang out with the best crowd, they're better for having you)

Kisses (to start with...) from

Yours, Truly.

Casual Romance

You are not what I'm used to. but I'm willing to try you on for size (not that size matters...).

You know, I like the idea of sharing, but, as we learn in kindergarten, the hard part comes when someone actually wants to borrow your new toy. I might not want to give it up...

But so far I am pleasantly surprised at how easy you are to handle. I feel like an octopus, with my "hands" getting up to no good wherever they want to. No strings, no guilt, no obligation.

Your name is so fitting. Casual, yes-- I can feel it in the easy swing of step, in holding hands, in my lips as I purr into a waiting ear...

...But Romance is not dead and gone. You're not on the same level as 'One Night Stand' over there, oggling my ass... You give me tingles. You don't need my full attention and commitment to do it either. High five for skilllllz.

Maybe I think too much, in fact , I know I do.... but I want to keep your warm breezes, your walking too close and your freshness. I want to be that kind of girl... for a little.

We both know it's not going to last forever.... so let's have some fun.

And maybe some french toast?

Yours, Truly.