Abundance of letters, postcards, posters, books, manuscripts –
a two year long correspondence.
One day we met,
nothing came out.

Later a flame imposed on me to drive down to where he hid,
below the Loire,
spoiled bourgeois.

Jobless, useless, probably sick,
I wanted him to share his wrath,
accept my strength,
follow my path,
swallow my sex.

He laid in bed
in the darkness
I lit a fag in the kitchen,
I knew he wanted me to leave
but hell with it, I had driven four hours straight, no rest, no nap, no other thing than the highway.

I stayed over one night, proposed to cuddle him
he hesitated a long time, eventually declined.

I left the following morning, before the sun sprang up
I had the feeling he would not outlive the day.
All I know is no letter has ever showed up.
 
*
 
Walter Ruhlmann works as an English teacher, edits mgversion2>datura and runs mgv2>publishing. Walter is the author of several poetry chapbooks and e-books in French and English and has published poems and fiction in various printed and electronic publications world wide. Nominated for Pushcart Prize once.
His blog is here.