Monday, November 8, 2010

I’ve set out to write you a morning sonnet
As wintry sleet pelts my window pane
It’s harder than it seems – how had Donne done it?
For a moment ‘twas snow – and now it’s rain.
You can’t cheat with a sonnet – there’s no refrain
Not like a Beatles song, oh darling you
She loves you yeah yeah yeah again and again
But this much remains, dear – my heart is true.
Your page hits pelt me with your mojo voodoo
c’est vrai, I’ve met you only once or twice
Don’t know your name, never said “how do you do?”
Mr. iPhone in Woodstock – must for my boundless passion suffice.
Virtual and virtuous since soul kiss “we can’t ever”
I lust in my heart, and for your page hits, dear heart – endeavor.

Up in the aerie this early evening, much as I was this very slow news morning when for some reason I got it into my head to try my hand at a sonnet. I just woke up with this mad burning desire. To, to, to, oh grrrrr -- well, probably not write a sonnet but these days a girl must sublimate.

Sometimes it occurs to me - what if we were to meet, for real? What if we didn't like each other? It would be one huge, oh never mind. Still - I don't know. You seem pretty persistent. I had a blog once before, before this one. And I developed a small group of fans from it - these were women. That blog (unlike 2.0) was very innocent. I met two of the women, at different times. One lived in the county, and we met for coffee, and I went over her house for brunch one day, and she came over mine - and that was that. She really liked my writing - she looked at me when we first met with this sort of impressed expression on her face - and honestly, I think the person of me in fact disappointed her. Because I can fall into long silences, be a little tongue-tied, am not nearly as freewheeling in person, though I have my moments particularly in bed - but see, those are nonverbal too, though of course she could never know that. The other was a really lovely woman a few years younger than me who lives in Minnesota. We were very, very intellectually simpatico, and she's very passionate and impassioned too. We had quite a correspondence going on for a while, and we even met once in Manhattan when she came East for a visit. I miss her a bit, I do - our lives were so very divergent though, and honestly I was very, very lonely - but not for female company, at all. I know - it's terrible to say. I just couldn't summon up any feelings of fervency towards her. I wanted to reveal the deepest aspects of myself - to a man. I do like her a lot though, she's amazing, and hope she's doing well.

Well, my dear perhaps it's just as well we never meet so that I can just keep on adoring you. But you must understand that if I should happen to come upon someone corporeal who has eyes for me and is actually available - well, you will understand won't you? Because an ever sublimating girl has to hope.

A chicken is roasting in the oven and I've sent up a decadent round of heat even though I'm all bundled up. That's it for now, darling - that sonnet knocked me out. Many kisses. XOXO

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