With love, from

                                                     A poem in front of me;
                                                     A drink in my hand.
                                                     Will ever my life be more,
                                                     than but a memory of you?
 
 

                                                                                    "No stone is so precious,
                                                                                      nor beauty so fair
                                                                                      as the girl of my dreams;
                                                                                      my love, my sweet Marie."
 
 

    A long time ago, beyond the mountains of dreams, in the valley of enchantment, lived a princess fair whose heart was true.  She walked through her realm like a light passes through a crystal.  And a rainbow was her smile.
    It is said, such was her presence, she often stopped any turmoil in the street as she passed the marketplace.  One day, as she was walking by, two men were having a violent disagreement.  She stood and watched them.  When they eventually noticed her, she calmly asked them what the problem was.  Both men looked at her and then at each other with a puzzled expression.  Neither of them could recall what they had been arguing about only moments before.  They walked away together and never again did an unkind word pass between them.
    People have many such tales and would never cease speaking of their princess, had the tales not become sad.  The sadness came, as it often comes in similar tales, in the form of a stranger.  The stranger was a handsome prince from far away, who had heard of this strange and wonderful princess and her subtle beauty.
     Subtle too, were the prince's efforts to win the princess' affections.  He did not approach her at all, but did good deeds throughout the kingdom until he was much beloved by the populace.  The princess admired this foreign prince for he was charming and kind and shared much knowledge from lands of which her people knew not.  Everyone said they should meet, and so they did.  At a festival in the spring beneath a full moon, they fell in love.
    They fell to their deaths from off the castle wall.  No. They didn't.  Perhaps, they should have.  Perhaps, they should have died while they were happy;  Died together in a tragic accident before all their neighbors.
    The people of the kingdom, instead, saw their princess move away from them.  She went with the prince to his kingdom far away, but alas, they did not live happily ever after.  The prince seemed to change once he got home.  He was a hunter and loved more the chase than the prize.
    His subjects immediately fell in love with the princess as her subjects had done before them.  Far from being pleased, the prince was jealous of the princess'  popularity exceeding his own.   He forbade the princess to leave the castle and he taxed the citizenry for their adoration of her (though he gave another excuse).
     The people paid because the prince owned the land they farmed.  The princess obeyed because she still loved the prince.  Maybe she felt sorry for him or maybe it was only habit.  Maybe it was only commitment, perhaps it was fear of being alone and... he did try to please her sometimes.  Anyway, she felt it was love and knew that, in his way, he loved her.  She stayed.
    But merely keeping the princess home did not quell the prince's jealousy.  The prince soon grew upset by the most meager attention shown to the princess by her servants and forbade their presence.  He had all the servants banished from the princess'  service.  The princess spent her days alone -when not accompanied by the prince.  These days were too many and she fell into a deep despair.
    Physicians and men of science were want to disagree, but fact is the princess died  of a broken heart within that year.  Likewise was it later disputed that said year was the worst (for both weather and internal strife) that the kingdom had ever known.  Such was never doubted at the time.
    These men of science would also assert the moans heard throughout the castle were "but the breeze flowing through the passages".  The prince's restless evenings were due only to his uneasy conscience (regarding fiscal policy, of course) and his testicles were severed in a bizarre shaving accident, but the people know the princess yet walks.
    Confined to the castle she finally punished the prince as he slept for crimes he had committed while awake.  For, though she could have done no such thing in life, in death, she was compelled to avenge the evil wrought upon so many by the selfishness of  but one.
 
 

                                                      The Cold in your eyes
                                                      has frozen my heart;
                                                      It can let no other enter,
                                                      and nothing can leave.
                                                      It feels only unending
                                                      unrequited love for you.
 
 
 
 
 
 

So now. Marie,
I go to sleep,
perchance to dream of you.

If naught else.
in slumber's realm
I may find respite
from these worries
which beset me.
 
 
 

                                                        Beauty in the waves;

                                                        Beauty in your eyes;
                                                        My thoughts caress
                                                                     your thighs,
                                                         like the waves caress
                                                                            the sand;
                                                                         and I yearn
                                                          to pour
                                                          my waters o'er you
                                                                            as I yearn
                                                                    to cool myself
                                                           in the wetness
                                                               of your passion.

                                                    Oh, this ocean is beautiful
                                             and oh, how it reminds me of you.
 
 

O so jealous
        of the smoke
you take inside
with deep longing
 
 
 
 
 

                    Talk to me, sweet Marie.
                    Help me not to love too much.
                    Teach me not to hurt nobody.
                    At least, have a drink with me,
 

                            oh, please Marie...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                                               In My Dreams

                                        How often I have touched you
                                        as you squirm beneath me.
                                        and my hands loose your breasts
                                        as you buck so wildly,
                                        And I wonder;
                                        are you so lost
                                        in ecstasy
                                        or do you pull away inside yourself;
                                        inside memories that I can never touch.

                                        I can tie you down.
                                        and you like that sometimes,
                                        but that will only
                                        keep your body here
                                        your passions soar so far above me.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                                                      Letters

                                               I have conversations
                                                             in my mind;
                                                      for, there I hear
                                                      you answer me...

                                                       and that is new;

                                              we say little face to face
                                              (perhaps we lost the nerve)

                                              and your letters never come.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                             I saw you again last night;
                             again, I was in bed, sleeping.
                                    You were with another,
                                    But still I dreamt I saw you
                                    and  that was nice.

                            You were in a hurry.
                            Still, we bantered,
                                    like we always did;
                                    And though I said
                                    rude things about you,
                            you know
                                    I love you still.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  Another poem born of loneliness,
  and whiskey and too many
  thoughts of you.

  Your strange featured face
  and devilish smile
  that make me think
  I've seen a leprechaun;
  or fairy, perhaps,
  that floats from blade
  to blade among the wildflowers
  (known as men)
  and makes them smile
  and hope to hold you
  for just a moment…
  and then you're gone.

  I need a hug.
 
 

    "She struts into the room.  Well, I don't know her."  That line from a song is the first thing I think about when I think of Marie.  The song begins with a lone, bluesy guitar and that was my mood on the day I first met Marie.  I sat at the bar, nursing a rum and coke and a broken heart, thinking, if I can't drown my troubles, I can, at least, take them for a swim.
    I turned to see her as she sauntered in and said, "How's it goin',bud?" to a couple of regulars.  The voice was light, like the bounce in her step, but a bit raspy and sultry like the old Lauren Bacall movies I remembered; or, at least I heard Marie's voice that way.  The sweater she wore seemed more for warmth and comfort than to enhance her figure.  She needed little enhancement.  She wore very little makeup and, instead of smelling like cheap perfume, she brought a freshness like clean linen and baking soda into the dive.  I felt like I was In an Irish folk song.
    She ordered a beer and asked me what I was thinking about.  The small, friendly blonde with the wholesome look brought Doris Day to mind and I tried to think of what James Garner would say.  She said I was thinking too hard and invited me to play pool.  Of course, I accepted.  The wide smile that absorbed most of her squarish face and those sparkling green eyes made me fall off the barstool anyway.
    She didn't play well, but didn't need to in order to beat me severely.
    "You let me win, bud." she said.
    "I don't beat strange women." I replied.
    "Does that mean you beat friends?" she asked.
    She laughed often, but freely and honestly, not derisively. After the game, she chuckled that, perhaps, we should play partners.
    Another couple had been watching us, and Marie asked if I minded.
     "Of course not," I replied.
    She introduced us and asked if the couple would care to play.  They accepted and we passed a pleasant afternoon with Phil and Donna.
    They were a young married couple and had been shopping for a house.  Phil, a tall, thin, dark man, was a vacationing supervisor from a local factory.  Donna, a petite brunette, attractively but conservatively dressed, was an evening telephone operator on her night off.
    After a couple of games, Marie excused herself and said she had to leave in order to shop for her aunt.  Phil, Donna and I returned to the bar and continued talking.  None of us had ever been in a bar so long without getting drunk.  We had spent so much time laughing, talking and playing pool, we hadn't done much drinking.  The bartender, noticing my glass was empty, asked if I'd like another. I said no to the drink, but I thought, yeah, I think I'm ready for another.
 
 
 

                        In my dreams,
                        I think of you.
                        I realize it's so;
                        Even when I can't recall
                        The vision…

                        For, my mood is caustic
                        and my memories
                        are bitter.

                        Sometimes, I even
                        forget
                        the good I see
                        in you.
 
 

                                                                Marie,
                                                                will ever I hear
                                                                Thy voice again?

                                                                 Perhaps, but when
                                                                 I close mine eyes.
 
 
 
 
 

                                     Write no more;
                                        no eyes shall see it;

                                     Thy words of torment,
                                        thy participles of strife.

                                     Send lovers screaming,
                                     send editors to hell
                                     with words of mine

                                     and thoughts of you

                                     forever on my mind.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

     Marie,
     light of my dreams,
     and demon of my nightmares,

     you are my highest aspiration
     and the darkest depth
     to which I can sink.
 
 

    The song playing is Alice Cooper's, "Be My Lover".  It was found at Alice-Vincent.net.

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