Poetry: My Book Is About You — Sort of; from Letters I Never Sent to You

© My Book Is About You — Sort of

from Letters I Never Sent to You

My darling one and only,

It is only fair you know this, Babe, but I returned from a short holiday to discover just one of your precious, priceless, illegal piranhas remained.

She was missing her tail; I had to let her die.

You found me! You called! And your voice melted my heart.

Your voice peaked my desire so high, I profess I felt compelled to fall— no, to jump… to leap!— off the celibacy wagon.

Your voice made my insides tremble.

Your voice was always an invitation for my imagination to go wild. Lord knows all the pictures of happy, loving memories that flashed through my mind as we talked.

Dare I say it? All those years we were together, each time you breathed out, I breathed you in. I indulged in your tender caresses and passionate kisses… And I ached for more.

It has been too long since that night you wandered into my life and seduced my mind. Not so long I have forgotten how your warm breath of passion weakened my knees until I would have collapsed at your feet like a plate of spaghetti; except you held me tightly in your arms.

I will never forget the event when you managed to touch my soul. You “just happened to stop by” with fishing poles you made for two young girls. Then, you took them fishing. Them. You spent time with them. The three of you spent an afternoon together and my heart became eternally yours.

Perhaps the death of the sole survivor in a lonely aquarium will mean nothing to you now, and I admit it will be easier for me to lose that last piece of you since our recent talk than it was at the time she swam away into bigger waters.

I can barely stand the wait until your next call. Keep me in safe water as your loving catch.

Until the end of time, I am always

Your Love

Mimi Wolske

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