March the Twenty Third
Dearest M,
We opened the wounds just to taste them as they were, didn't we...jasmine & cinnamon with a hint of cherished pain. I remember that day was so terrible & ended so blissfully.
We'd scrape each other raw & then bandage our sores and we feasted on the scars like they were delicacies.
How I loved the smile on your face. When we'd awake to find our bodies caught in the spell of binding to each other—so magnetic. How often did we find them pulled to each other—warm breasts to the rigid spokes of your chest, spinning.
I can almost feel you here now, in that memory, your hands calmly, surely guiding me. Unwinding me. My breath grows ragged with still interludes—suffocation from the pleasure.
You always did tease. With those rough eyes & little bites-right. at. the. perfect. moment.
But also, how we sank together. So softly. So sweetly. Like lemon & honey. So soothingly.
I remember lingering on the water's edge caught in a slow waking dream. Your steps, smoothly parting the grass, as we stepped forward—I innocently, slipped in, the rocks wobbly, and you caught me—with your tongue. We tasted of cinnamon & cloves & water mint.
Affectionately, HW
ESTÁS LEYENDO
The Letters of Hennessy Wedgewood
Historia Corta"March the Thirty First Dearest M, I've cut it all away. Gutted it. Every last bit of what I once was. I buried it. It kept emerging like bile on a warm rotting day-I stomped it down. Some graves just can't be dug deep enough. I covered it in ston...
