Love Letter

I wanted to write a story about us making love.  I wanted to imagine touching your body in ways that would delight you … that would  cause the perspiration and palpitation of your form.  I wanted  to describe how I would mold your naked body before me into a cluster of sexual energy going supernova.  .  To kiss you.   To touch you.  To do things to you that would cause you to quake in pleasure and scream to the heavens out of release.  

But I find my mind moving laterally, reviewing all of your wonderful words.  Thinking of the kind of person you are.  How special you are to me.  I am sure you remember the poem Tamer and Hawk, by Thom Gunn.  

But only want the feel,
In my possessive thought,
Of catcher and of caught
Upon your wrist.


It is here that the talons of this hawk rests.   Upon you arm I will sit.  Near your breast I will compose.  The longing of your presence is what I truly desire.  But recent events have troubled your heart.  They have added to the weight of your soul.  They have disturbed your peace and security.


And it is to your peace and security I pledged myself long ago.  A promise I will always keep. In this pledge suffer me one privilege:  Allow me talk about you without deflection.  Let me recant your wonderfulness with no distraction.  Grant  me the honor of holding the mirror up, showing you how truly beautiful you  are.  Sometimes in life, with everything that goes on,  you  become so focused on the moment that you  lose yourself in that moment.  Sometimes,  you need someone to remind you of how dazzling you really are.  

First, the mirror must be worthy.  It must be the finest cheval glass.  Clear,  without blemish.   We need this to see clearly all of the detail in our dress and grooming.  The clearer the mirror, the more accurate the form in it.  We  see in the appearance, every hair in place, every button, pleat, or piece of adornment where it should be.  

Next, the frame of the mirror must be of the finest gilded work.  Adorned with settings of silver apples in gold carvings. The frame, while pleasing to look upon, only outlines the figure in the mirror.  It enhances the one looking into the mirror , without detracting from the beauty of said person.

Finally, the stand on which the mirror rests should be made of the finest mahogany.  Deep and rich as the soul of the one peering into the mirror.  At the same time, the wood is strong, a bulwark against the unsteady.  

So there you are,  standing in front of it.  What do you see?    

I'll tell you what I see, as I stand behind you looking into the same looking glass.  

I see a creature of exquisite beauty.  

Her brown hair adorned in pearls of truth, as the crown of her capitulum.  These pearls are woven into her hair, just as her thought process is woven in truth.  Pearls of wisdom is what comes forth always attempting to reflect the wisdom of the moment.  

Her face brought to the fore, as the makeup she wears enhances the natural structure of her cheek bones that draw attention to the dark, rich, brown eyes of a mysterious, and confident woman....who sometimes hides the pain in those sparkling eyes.

Her lips a lush red, the color of passion.  To press upon them is to enter the divine state, though she humbly tries to give pause in deflecting to others her own grace.    

Her supple neck, garnished with a necklace of emeralds.  She often wears the green stone of healing, as she is always trying to be the healer.  But even the healer needs healing sometimes.  


She wears a ball gown of antebellum times.  Fitting  her form as well as can be.  Long dark gloves cover her forearms.  The green in her dress a matching accompaniment to the jewelry she wears.  She is dressed for the ball.  Life's orchestra plays her favorite tunes of mirth and rejoicing.  And when the music plays,, she glides.  Moving as effortlessly as clouds across the summer sky, she flows over the dance floor, all eyes upon her.    

Those dancing with her enjoy the moment, as the minuet of words she is dancing to is a tune so lovingly easy to listen to that  even a coal crackers son can catch the rhythm of it.  The kindness of your maneuvers on the dance floor of life  endear you to so many.  One partner after another you take up.  You help them to learn to dance,  to be happy in their dance.  If they stumble, you do not denigrate. You assist.  You direct.  You guide.  When that person is complete, you pick a new partner, and help them in the same loving way.  


That is the kind of person I see.  A woman with whom I could spend an eternity with.  A beautiful, vivacious person with so much love in her heart.  Always giving.  Always loving.  Ready to help.  Your soul is one I have been searching for all of my life.  When the music plays I see you twirling and laughing and enjoying life.  

I have heard it said by some , that they are not worthy of certain things, or certain ones in their life.  Of all of the people I have ever met...of all of the people I have ever come to know.  You are most worthy of a soul-mate that comforts you.  That loves you.  That cares for you, even though you have never met him.  

I wanted to write a story about us making love.  I wanted to imagine touching your body in ways that would delight you … that would  cause the perspiration and palpitation of your form.  I wanted  to describe how I would mold your naked body before me into a cluster of sexual energy going supernova.  .  To kiss you.   To touch you.  To do things to you that would cause you to quake in pleasure and scream to the heavens out of release.  

Instead, I peered into the looking glass with you.... And I saw something so much more....