“And he decreases the number of clocks by exactly one”

Thank mercy for young boys. Young boys who will drive, at the slightest provocation, many many miles to come see me. On a whim. Then take me for dinner. Then dessert. They are splendid creatures. Rare and exceptional, wicked and sly. Somewhere there is a poem waiting in all this. Thank mercy for young boys.

what colour eyes would your children have?

There is a boy of my acquaintance who is far too old to be considered a boy by most standards, who is also likely coming to town soon. Any day now. There is an annual event he attends here that begins on Tuesday. We used to be close, me and this gentleman I persistently call a boy, (as well as a dove, another pet name misnomer), but there was a falling out which felled us apart, and now I am terrified that if or when he comes, he will not call.

It used to be we would talk every day. Months of it, mostly out of the same city. Logging in long distance every night before bed, turning on the camera just to have company. Reading to each other, waving, singing, writing our lives out like diary entries to be late night tattooed on our skin. Always, as ever, it was the thought of you that held me through. An entire dictionary range of love letters and affectionate inspiration. Calling in the morning, saying good night. We were perpetually in presence, even over mountains. I could not imagine a day without saying his name. When, after a very long while, he finally topped my patience, a significant amount of time after our relationship had smoothed from flame into family, my letter said I didn’t want to talk for only a week. Once that was done, I sent another hello. “I miss you.” After all, some people you can’t but help to continually love. Almost all I’ve received in the year since is silence. Now, somehow, the possibility that he may not even call.

I cannot help wonder what it is I could have possibly done to be so wronged.

ps. by the way, if you happen to come across a copy of Fever Ray, (the new solo album from The Knife’s nice howling lady), fallen off the back of the internet truck, I would like a copy, for it is Good.