Love Letters, Part One

Love, Joe


2/1/05

dear you:

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photo: Elinor Carucci
(you should read this letter alone, sitting down, with a glass of water.) (you should read this when nobody is home, sitting on your bed, in a bedroom I've never been in, but have just glimpsed, with your drawings on the walls.) (dear you, you should read this with me next to you on the bed in your bedroom, you should read this with me just barely touching you, with all of our winter clothes still on, sweater to sweater—my orange one to your blue. dear you. I hope you will read this with me beside you, my tension contained and diffused through my body, so that I take off my sweater to prove an unconscious point to you, look up at you, as I have before, for a signal from your hand. dear. it is my great wish that you will read this as I try to cross my legs for you, and you, still reading, steady my thigh with your hand, hold it as if I'd made you a present of it. I hope you will read this letter. turning towards me. you should read it just before your glasses are off. you should read it just before. you should read it just before i am trying to make as much skin touch you as i can, because i want and need you finally, yes. you should read this right before every time i've ever looked at you and loved you and not said it, and held it in and bit my lip, gets concentrated in these hips of mine, who are dying to say it:) now, now, now, now, now, now and i do, yes, love you. —a.e.b.s.


DEFINITIVE
(LD Beghtol/Nice Boys Music/Mother West Music/ASCAP)

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You never wanted much—
Just poetry and a place by the sea
You never wanted much—
Just Morrissey, Tea and Sympathy
But you never wanted life superlative
You never wanted much, that's true

Matthew, where will you go when it's over?
Matthew, what will you do?

You never asked for much—
Just books and a fire, and a tire swing
You never asked for much—
Just a ball of sring and a promise ring
But you never wanted it definitive
You never wanted endless skies of blue

Oh, Matthew, where will you go when it's over?
Matthew, what will you do when it's through?

You never wanted what I had to give
You never knew I wanted you

Oh, Matthew, where will you go when it's over?
Matthew, what will you do when it's through?
Matthew, where will you go when it's over?
Matthew, oh, what will you do—
When she leaves you?

Listen to "Definitive" by Flare online at villagevoice.com/definitive


After eight months of brutal Canadian winter it was no surprise that 29-year-old writer Notho was miserable. Romance was impossible in his suburban town, Waterloo, with the arctic chill making the idea of a "spring fling" sound ridiculous. Inspired by Catullus's poems of love and rejection, Notho got through the winter writing about affairs with lesbians. When summer finally came, he realized lesbians were just not that into him, but that in spite of frostbite, domestic love is attainable . . .

August 19, 2004

Dear Jeen:

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photo: Elinor Carucci
Writing my novel for the 24th time has shown me that domestic love with bliss is rare and hard to find. We are so very lucky. Now that I am two days from fully exorcising my Catullan curse, I sense great freedom from self on the horizon, and want to develop a serious and vested interest in the corporeal body of your organic development and art.

We will eat mussels, and become the movie Blue Lagoon: You will be Brooke Shields's burnt-toast thighs and I, suburbia's Slurpee heart. On hot picnics I will watch butter clarify down your lengthy carrot limbs, and your cherub mouth quiver beneath apple cheeks. You will replace my lust for sapphic vixens, your lips as sensuous as dewy produce.

Home can be a healthy thing. We'll leave 7-Elevens behind. I love you endlessly, and am happy your sexual orientation allows you to love me too.

Notho

Love Letters, Part Two

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