strikingly similar

subject: unsent letters
style: varied
source: Marshall McLuhan

"I don't necessarily agree with everything I say."

to A: I still find it refreshing sometimes how strikingly similar we are, with regard to the experiences we've been through, the problems we suffer, the way we think about life, our interests and our passions. It feels like you could be my long-lost twin sister or something. Great minds think alike, I suppose.

Oh, and another thing. Often when you're cold or dejected or alone, I want to hug you. And I feel bad that I can't. But maybe it will help to explain why. Hugging you was a thing I so badly wanted to do for so long, and in fact I have never gotten around to doing it. I have built it up in my mind over the years, and the first time I do so, I want it to be special. Otherwise it'd feel like a major disappointment. Is that weird ?

to D: Thank you.

to F: Good god, you are so damn beautiful. I can hardly stand it.

to II: I don't blame them. You are smart, beautiful, funny, friendly, easy to talk to, and we think so much alike. The only thing preventing me from liking you, is not wanting to be just another part of the crowd.

to new K: I'm not pretending. At least, I don't think I am. I am afraid of what will happen if you trust me.

with an elegant touch of cautious delicacy

[This is my first poem after an unfortunately long drought. Hopefully I've managed to retain something of note since then. Anyway, this free-verse love poem (of sorts) is the result of my trying to translate some very ugly thoughts into something more attractive and more real. I hope you enjoy.]

"The Rubicon Sequence"

(formerly "Dustswept")

by Siesta Lingo

Eyes closed,

I rest,

Legs crossed in front of me.

I lean back against the rough cold of this wall

At the spot where we made history

Many a day

By refusing to listen

To anyone, anything

But the whisper of the wind as it rustled our garments

And the soft flow of your voice in my ear:

A symphony of comforting words,

The therapeutic rhythms of what some might call love.

I set my hand upon the dustswept ground we've come to trust,

Open it,

Palm up, inviting.

I feel

Your fingers dare to tickle mine,

Grab on,

Interlock, entwine

The secrets of the universe.

The cool warmth of

The keys to your heart

Sends shivers up my arms;

I blame the wind.

You squeeze,

Clasp gently,

Firmly delve,

Silent, reaching toward my soul;

Release.

I reach around your frame,

Wordlessly encircle

The body of my thoughts

With an elegant touch of cautious delicacy.

Slowly, I relax my muscles;

Gravity

Guides me to your warmth again,

Shivers down my spine again,

Leads me to the token of my dreams.

I feel

The urge to demonstrate repressed desire;

I fear

You may not return,

With any well-intended measure of gusto,

This favour,

In spirit,

To me.

I feel

You lean;

I venture

To open up the windows

To my sight

Of what spectacular result envisioned I:

The ruby consequence of offering my company to you.

And as I open my eyes

And turn to glance

Upon your beauteous advance,

I am forced

To entertain the hapless solitude

Of having just remembered

You are gone.