Letters to Eve

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Lately.

Seldom lately have we ever been.

Seldom have we ever been alone and in love.

A few times last week we were good together.

Monday is past the stage of caring.

I wish I could help her care as much as I do.

Tuesday to Tuesday I am wondering how to see my way to the place on the mountain.

To sit locked in the goodness of having her company here in this part of my life.

Bell of Christmas past and wet streamers of New Years over.

Stammering I fall and want to sleep in warm arms.

Come be my company.

For you are for me a person with whom I can be myself.

Calm yourself.

Let me hold you tenderly.

Sleep here.

I will take care not to have you wake.

Messengers fly.

Over my stereo.

Into ears of one who my disregard all else for a tender loving woman.

Break your ears.

Listen if you choose to.

Conflicts arise.

I am connected.

By the phone.

To this love.

Now.

The morning sky closed in over the turnpike as I drove into and through the side of another mountain. Devoured by a valley mist I fell into a sleep.

People were cold objects in space.

Numbers on lines.

Prints in files.

That never grow old only reconditioned to the ways of those in long black robes posing on their snow white stallions.

Soiled only where the riders sit.

The valley deepened.

The mist thickened.

Reflecting the misgivings.

In my mind.

Blanketing me.

Blinding my eyes.

Fogging my head.

Producing visions of myself.

Questioning how will make my way clear?

Alone.

To another day.

My tears.

Rolled over my eyelids.

Cleansing them.

Blinking away the past.

Again I open up.

To a bright.

Blue sky.

Of another day.

Seconds of everything.

Pheasants in the field.

The master would like you to plant pineapples instead of potatoes.

Yes.

Many people live as so.

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