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Emails (Free verse) by fevriere
He is my paperless psychiatrist, now. We send satin letters through the cables and lock jaws, courteous as beetles, snug as caterpillars in the language of disgraceful divorce, his punctuation rugged mine neatly trimmed, capitals plucked and commas toned. What am I saying? That the emails arrive like birthdays every week.

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xxx68.166.37.1851June 16, 2005 1:50 PM PDT
Anonymous68.122.140.1110July 15, 2004 12:40 PM PDT



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