Dare I? I do dare:
Come to me, come to me in spring. Come to me stateside, my side of the states. You bring those lazy almond eyes and I, I will feed you and nourish you with all the rest.
Climb the stairs of my building, across the street from where Ginsberg wrote Howl, up to my room. Come only with the intention of kissing me, kissing me on the mouth and nowhere else, like I was to kiss you and no one else in Berlin. And then thumb through my books, find the one that seals the deal, and undress us because of it, because I have the right book and what that means about me.

Follow me, follow me here in the flesh and to my flesh because you already follow me. I open my schoolbook and the prologue is a quote from Herzog, by Saul Bellows, "For instance? Well, for instance, what it means to be a man. In a city. In a century. In transition. In a mass. Transformed by science. Under organised power. Subject to tremendous controls. In a condition caused by..."

Teach me, teach me again to roll cigarettes, this time with the confetti raspy tomb tobacco stateside. Come to me, come to me in spring because I hardly remember you at all. I am sure I am writing to myself this time and not you. But I want, do I want.

What shall we do? What we shall do, darling. For instance, anything that has a devil may care tinge upon it, teeth marks on it, crushed pomegranate bruises on it, a whip of red horse hair across it, hot apple cider to soothe it.

I resolve, most resolutely, for this new year to never yell.