memory

Dearest Deborah,

Poetry is love as is fiction as is modern art. There is perfume and color and all of the smooth sounds that reassure all of us. So it is not such a far reach to write that you and I find ourselves in a field of wildflowers, surrounded by a symphony of everything good with the world, and the wind brushing by has just the correct touch of cool. Nothing can ever be as perfect as this.

This is how I feel about you.

Love forever and always, Michael