I miss you very much and its strange because I don’t miss things. I never really have before . . . I am slowly learning about this strange world of missing people thanks to this gorgeous young vixen I met and can’t get out of my head. I miss everything about her. I miss the way she smells, I miss the way she draws her head from the me when we kiss and looks at me with those big brown eyes . . . I miss her hands on my back softly pressing me into her. I miss her chocolate lips and soft legs . . . .but I have never missed anyone like this. What has she done to me? She has me in a spell . . . . there is something magical about her . . . and I love her. And I miss her.”

Sometimes I miss him too. It’s not every day. It’s not every week. It’s not even every month. But it comes in currents. Unpredicted. Inclement. Softly edging out from the dark corners of boxes, picture frames, forgotten flavors, misplaced feelings, dusty days that rust in their surreal memorials of old envelopes and lifeless words. And, fuck it. (excuse me) The heart hurts. Because when the wounds close they’re still open. When he doesn’t answer the phone, he’s still there. Nothing really goes away, emotions don’t vanish into a complete and coveted oblivion. There is no sweet fog that sweetly encapsulates all things broken in a dark and sympathetic haze. We try this, maybe, but then we find that we haven’t disappeared, we’ve just been lost, and it’s even harder to come back.

I never sent this to him. I always wished I would have.

Milton in the" Nude"

We’re laying on the bed,

two smooth skins in a pale embrace.

You reach over to touch my face and

and I say I know who Milton is.

I amplify my knowledge:

JOHN MILTON, of course

I know him! I’m trying to keep

cool, trying to keep paradise.

What about Dante, you ask.

OF COURSE I KNOW DANTE!

I’m trying to keep my voice from

reaching infernal depths.

Did you know Milton was blind?

OF COURSE I KNEW . . .

he was blind?

Oh. Yea. Right.

No longer the elitist of

epic literature, I listen

as you tell me how his

daughters cared for him.

The light in the hall hits

you from behind as I hold

your hand. We are only a solid

shadow glowing on the edges.

And right then, I think,

maybe we should close our eyes

because blindness isn’t

bad in the arms of your love.