something not beaming on a screen but scribed down
over precariously frayed parchment
enclosed with a daisy (which i hope you love)
and spritzed with my mother's perfume
(as i have no fragrance other than the white speckles
from my anti-persperent) - a wax seal
of two loving elephants and a Latin motto:
Vivamus, Mea Lesbia, atque amemus!*
i wish i had a fountain pen or a 1926 Remington
to make my words seem (only slightly) more elegant -
doll them up and take them out on the town -
perhaps i can put flowers in their caps
through that language i know which makes you melt:
Marcus meo amori spd.**
i wonder how far my letters will travel
through grey and snow until they reach
your pale hands - how dearly your eyes
may jump across my words in my makings
from my country villa (cultivating only dead grass
and baby boys) to your columns in your city
Solitudo placet Muses; urbs inamica poetis est.***
Solitude tears me up inside -
the where my letters will be sent is so prosperous for you and i
*"Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love!" - from Catullus
**Literally, "Marcus speaks many greetings to my love" ("spd" stands for "salutes plures dicet").
***"Solitude pleases the Muses; the city is unfriendly to poets." - from Horace
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