Happy Anniversary of the St. Valentine's Day massacre! If it wasn't for Al Capone I would question the happiness associated with this day (note to self: start questioning the lump on my uvula to see if it know where I left the nutmeg). Now I'm happy . . . now I'm sad . . . now I'm in transition . . . now I'm in crash position . . . now, now James . . . etc., etc.,,,,,,. These devious semblances of guilt;;where do they come from? Jurassic stadium? Wait a minutia ,, there IS no Jurassic stadium. I have clarity by the throat now Gertrude. Send the boys back to the house where we unravel. Are you enjoying the view today L? The frail, slippery sorrows soaring out of reach? I miss my tapeworm. His name was Sandy and I blackmailed him in my dreams. Where are your dreams that rest slightly etched in mine? I ask a lot of questions, don't I? That was a question. This is not a question? And down, down, down goes the topper.
I love you L, you know that. There is no one else in my life right now whose company I enjoy more. It is so rare to have as much fun as I have gallivanting along your borders. You need to know your worth darling because you are so worthy of my admiration. Funny, bright, kind, kooky, playful, these are some of Trump's finest qualities. Everyone knows that. Do you? If only you could mine the tenderness, settled and solidified, nourishing every depth, every rising vital leap of the serenades you plant with your smile, your grace, deep within my heart.
I know nothing may happen; I know you're not single (unless you've been lying this entire time. No one has seen his reflection last time I looked). I do not want to say or do anything to tamper or dampen your presence. I want you to know I'm always here for you. You make me happy. And as long as you're in my life, no matter how mild or melded the touches we share, I will be content.