Furthermore, the notes are not automated - they are all written personally by me. So, you get an extra note/memo/letter (depending on my mood), in which I might just wax philosophic on any number of topics that seem relevant, preferably in a few sentences or less. Or I might talk about how it feels that you all are in this journey with me or I might talk about updates to the site. But whether I say very much or very little on any given day, it feels more personal. Like I'm talking directly to you. I feel more connected to the folks on the notifylist. There, I've said it.
12.04.03 - 8:35 p.m. Know This: a poem for P, as yet ungiven
Know this: If you invite me into your home and I enter and we fall into embrace work ourselves into a state of desperate rapture and I hold you and you hold me press kisses soft into the chest the temple, bite down on the heel of the hand, the arch of the foot, fly back the ginger comforter cover, make crazy the sheets with our fanciful tornado of desire and slip soft into sleeping, our bodies in the night becoming unionized dream factories and we wake in the morning eyes gummed with story and you, regretfully, must leave early, but tell me to stay to sleep and keep dreaming— know that I will bask in the aftermath of great love. Know that I will hold your touch in my pores and cells, that I will revel half-awake, that I will luxuriate my naked body humming, legs wide with continued welcome. Even in your absence I will not want to tear myself away. Know that I will stay. Almost as long as I dare. Curl up in your chair with my paper, your pen Write you a thank you letter in which I will say things I can not yet tell you in person. Know that I will make the bed with exceptional care and precision. Match corners and lines, step back evaluate the symmetry and effect as if hanging a painting in a gallery arrange and rearrange the pillows tuck errant corners, smooth the wrinkles from the duvet. Know that I will write you poems as I find the clothing that last night flew to the four corners of our compact world and, deliberate, I will fold them sloppily make a rumpled pile with the socks on top and I will leave you the thank you note keep the poems for myself and flee into the golden afternoon.
