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i've left this here because
i know you love this book
and that you would pick it
up when you had some
time away from me. i've
changed my number and
moved away, and i don't
think you'll go to any trouble
finding me. i hope you enjoy
this book, as you've enjoyed
the way i've honeyed your
tea each morning, and woken
you with my mouth, and
snoozed when you asked me
to snooze, and woke when you
bid me to wake. now you have
so much time to read, dear, and
you no longer have to feel that
pang of danger that you felt. that
danger of letting me get too close
to you. i am gone now and you
should rest easy, and read your
marvelous book. that danger you
felt is the danger felt when
champagne is about to bubble
over its bottle. that fear of spillage.
that fear of waste in poverty. this
was your fear. and it was despicable.
as horrifying as the shepherd seeing
his lambs slaughtered, wondering if
his smock would be stained. though
i have stained your smocks, dear,
you are safe from danger now. at
last, you can honey your own
chamomile, kiss your own hand,
and snooze awhile, for now there
is no one distracting you from yourself.
this book was made for you, my dear,
and i'm so glad you have unearthed it.
put your feet up and enjoy. go back
to your book, please.