You Look Good To Me, You Damnable

It Was As If The Empty Nights Were Made For Thinking Of Him. And Sometimes I Found Myself So Vividly Aware Of Him It Was As If He Had Only Just Left The Room And The Ring Of His Voice Were Still There. And Somehow, There Was A Disturbing Comfort In That, And, Despite Myself, I’d Envision His Face.

In Spite Of All The Refinements Of Civilization That Conspired To Make Art--the Dizzying Perfection Of The String Quartet Or The Sprawling Grandeur Of Fragonard's Canvases--beauty Was Savage. It Was As Dangerous And Lawless As The Earth Had Been Eons Before Man Had One Single Coherent Thought In His Head Or Wrote Codes Of Conduct On Tablets Of Clay. Beauty Was A Savage Garden.

So Until We Meet Again, I Am Thinking Of You Always; I Love You; I Wish You Were Here...in My Arms.

I Hear The Birds Singing. Listen. I Hear Them In Their Cage. The Others-all Our Kind Who Know Of Her-they Think Of Her As Heartless, But She Wasn't Heartless. She Was Only Aware Of Things Which I Didn't Learn Till So Many Decades Had Passed. She Knew Secrets That Only Suffering Can Teach.

One Moment The World Is As It Is. The Next, It Is Something Entirely Different. Something It Has Never Been Before.