and I say that if your lips, which I have loved, should touch another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as I know, or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, I say if this should be - you of my heart, send me a little word; that I may go unto him and take his hands, saying, "accept all happiness from me". Then shall I turn my face and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
I remember the suck of boots in mud; guttural, sexual, in those clandestine woods. I remember dying to cry out but throat-stuck with briers and stones, as your ruddy lips grew much ruddier. I remember falling, falling back into that tangled bed; a mesh of twigs. Deflowered like a virgin bride in the ground swell of spring. Underneath that deciduous canopy propped up with jagged scaffolding...
