Dear Rosalind:
My sweet, my little piece of treacle, my poppet, my
chocolate covered raisin – how are you?
It was mighty fine to see you last night. You light up my life like a fountain of
sparks (pretty ones), and I do so look forward to any moment we can steal together.
On the last bus home – missing you madly already – I
thought: Take heart! And don’t worry! You can write her in the morning … so
here I am (on paper).
Yes, dearest Rosalind, I love you. I love you in the purest, most unadulterated
way (not in the slack-jawed way of lurv). My love for you is like a flower, a white
magnolia, and it only needs the thought of you to grow.
But Rosalind: call me! Please call. Your disembowelled disembodied
lush voice on the telephone will be as sweet water from the melted snows of Olympus .
The future, Rosalind, you and I – we can write it in the
stars (should we wish), and with it, and our love sealed, we would sail over
mountains (including Olympus ), swim with
dolphins (somewhere warm), be king and queen.
Sound good?!
I have a dream! It’s
a dream about you. A pre-Raphelian
dream. And I’m there too (if you’ll
excuse me). You are lying asleep in a
shady bower, beautifully asleep on a bed of primroses, and I, dressed in knight's
armour, black and gold, am watching you from a nearby thicket (so far, it may
seem creepy, but stick with it!).
Next, a pearly tear slivers from your underneath your
eyelashes and settles on your cheek: you are crying for something – the rack of
this rough world? And I see it (the tear), and come from behind my thicket, and
elegantly (at least for a man dressed head to toe in armour) stride over, take
your precious head in my hands, and give you the kiss of life (or wakefulness,
I’m not sure).
Anyhow, to cut a not very long story short – the tear it
turns out (in the dream) was shed for me.
Rosalind: have you ever cried for me? Cried over me? (not literally, of course).
If so, then do you not love me?
O! For I am sick with love for you! Sick, sick, sick with the joy of being in
love!
Until the next time I can be with you,
Yours (probably) forever,
… and I roam.
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