Whisper Rock versus Dirty Rock N Roll

Dear John,

I slept with someone else. And finally too, as I was approaching near to celibacy. (Yeah, thanks for that by the way.)

And yet after weeks of zero communication from your end, you conveniently choose to call when I am in the throes of another lovers gentle eyes and sharp tongue.

Do you have some kind of cosmic radar for these things?

Bared

Dear John,

Discreetly, I have been touched
By many unwanted hands,
Therefore my youth had been defiled
Innocence lost within time's sands.

But no hand could ever take me back
Like yours tenderly wrapped in mine,
As you placed a line of soft lipped kiss
So sweetly down my spine.

And in that instance I forgot
The darkness of my past,
For all I could think of was your face
And that I had found home at last.

But as I explain to you this liking
Our clothes careless on the floor,
You remain taciturn with lips unmoving
And I, your wanton lovestruck whore.

Begrudgingly yours,
Jane

Las Vegas

Dear John,

The first time I heard “Fake Empire” by the National was in Las Vegas. I don’t think there is a more apt place to listen to that song, our car rolling by the extravagance of the strip to the dilapidated downtown hotels. Armed with daiquiris we took in the light show, with the girls' striptease on overhead screens. You consumed me, and when asked to go along to film your video for a song about breaking up, I jumped.

I was disappointed by the everything. Going under the pretenses that there was a re-connection to be discovered and some warm sun to soak up (or at least a warm hot-tub to soak in) I was jilted from my dream to find it all colder than I had expected. “Sweet, um, we’re ex-lovers and all, and although we’re in the city of sin, ya ain’t getting my sorry smelly ass and oh btw I wrote this song and am not going to acknowledge the strange coincidence of situation and content.”

That’s what you said. Without using words.

I have woven my stories explaining you to myself, covering my bed in patchwork knitted tatters that when sewn together make a man I’d like to love. Somewhere between the separate beds and Nebraska I realize the myth I mourned was simply a figment of my stereo. All you are is lonely and all I am is adrift, complicating any season with the worry of the next and taking careful measures to remember it all.

Rock on lonely troubador, rock on.

Love Always,
Jane

sherbetsheets

Dear John,

I have this dream I'm embarrassed to share with you. I dream about being in a big bedroom with tall ceilings and a large bed. The window has soft curtains that breathe in and out with the breeze and the bed is dressed in soft sheets that are all the kinds of colors of sherbet. It's late afternoon and there's a record playing in another room. We're laying on the bed with our shirts mussed up around our torsos. Maybe I'm smoking, though I'm not trying to do too much of that. Maybe you're humming. Other than the sounds these little activities make there is just the lull of the fan. A floor fan. A large, old, square, floor fan. On low. With some magnets stuck to it. We lay in bed and play accordingly until the light changes and we get up to make food or go read in another room, such as the room with the records.

It's a sweet dream. It's almost too sugary to share. I just want to lay around in bed with you in the perfect conditions. I'd like to wait until evening and make some honey chicken and green beans. I'd like to find a decently comfortable couch and some lamps and carry on relaxing into the night. Maybe then we could take a walk, sometimes holding hands, going at a steady, even pace. When we came home, I could say my legs got cold and you could hurry me back upstairs to bed.

Instead, you've moved far away and we share text messages, not pillows. You're introducing some important speaker tonight and you asked me about ties. I imagine you'll use a podium. I'll be babysitting and carrying on with kids. I'll let them stay up late and I'll think about you wearing your tie and using your podium. You'll probably send me a message after expressing how well it went and I'll feel a little angry because I just want to be lying around in a nice bed with you.

Love,

Me

Smoking and Waiting

Dear John,

Remember the part where I said you were my moon?

Yeah well, I changed my mind.

You fucking suck.

Learn how to text message.

Oh There You Are

Dear John,
I love you.
Loving you makes each day better.
Loving you makes flowers smell better, and waking in the middle of the night surrounded by your arms the best part of my day.
You have caused a ridiculous flutter in my heart beat that has redefined its source of rhythm
Can I have you forever.

loose change

Dear Joan,

You know exactly 'that which has passed'- and that's barely nothin'! just a couple of smooches, a few neck nuzzles and just a bit of back/hip touching- all of which for some reason won't leave my head! I can't tell if I've thought about the softness of yr lips or hips more...

What I do know on the other hand, is that life is tough and mundane and there are only a few experiences which can really pull me momentarily away from it. The raw sensation of touching another human, kissing, this fleeting moment of becoming one with another is truly one of those few instances of ecstatic bliss bestowed upon us. There has recently been a spark, a small flame between us (although I've kinda felt it for years? maybe just me though...) but we'll sweep out the ashes if we need to....