Heart,
Lately I am grieving because I am very blind. It is too dark here without you. My eyes will countenance no face but yours, and they ache such that they will see no light at all. Yours is the flame I wish to see by. There are no others.
I lie here awake thinking, "Come him to Paris? Does he come home to us here?" but he does not come at all, my D goes tromping across the countryside in his tall leather boots. He does not speak to us. He is very angry, because we like to bleed. It does not bear speaking of! What matter is it to him, to you, what we do for ourselves?
D, come. Without you, who will look after me? There was never any other, none such that you are. Am I a liar? When ever did I tell lies to such an extreme as you would not believe me? Do you think me insincere? Only come home and you will see of me that I am very repentant and willing to submit to your rule. What medicine for my evil head? Put it upon my vile tongue and watch, for I will swallow it easily.
Oh, I am repentant! Draw upon my collar, I will follow thee! I am not better than a dog, wailing over the loss of her litter. Come back under my eaves and stay always. These eaves ache as my clean-picked ribs. Come back, heart! Flesh! I will not criticize you at all for your hat or your coat. You are none what I have said of you! Oh why do I tear at your pinions? Sebastien! You have deserved not the loosing of these, my foul arrows. Do not fly from me yet. Return to this trembling wrist, sainted wings.
What words? You will tear this letter! Is it a crime to write him a few nice words? How shall I appeal to him? Do we talk of love? What will we talk about to convince him of our desire for his face? Talk of how he has entranced us, how upon first seeing him, we wept of our devastation? But he hates beauty! He will be very boring and say "What is the value of this?" Oh pity us! We love it! What of his noble character then, which is handsome and refined? Oh, he is untouchable! Our D is the fairest of gentlemen, the straightest backed of them we know. How tall he stands, and very quiet. Come darkness, and let me sigh over you, perfect night orchid. The lighted moon calls for her shadow, consume us. The moon is prideful of her children, all beloved darkness flees from her, but you. Our light beats and beats without you, and we burn too hot. How we scream because we are burning.
Have I gone too far off? Does my arrow sail clean afield or sink true? Come home. I am tired. I cannot sleep without you. Is that what you want of the truth? My arms seek you out, strong, marble flesh, tall and unchanging statue. Allow me to curl around your ankle. I fear your death as I fear my own. Good face, come back. I cannot promise you anything. Keep a letter, and read it when we are too hard. Our feelings for you do not die.
You could stand to forgive us a little. You rage at what you do not understand.
I will say so. I am very tired. You are a little cruel. Come home. I cannot close my eyes until I know that you are safe. I am on my knees. Pity us. I do not know why I persist in loving you, fair and foul devil. You are of my own blood.
L