Love Letter

Oh dear Christine, you're so fat in all the right places. You wear black so well, you brilliant shadow, your shadows cast their own round shadows. I shrink before you, insignificant; my ideas cannot penetrate you. They are small and you are not, although you are short, but not so short as I am.

I am an ant before you. Will you poison me with your perfumed goodness? Will you step on me? Please! Grind out my life on the pavement or the mattress, for I am not worthy of your foot, but if your foot, so small and svelte, should deign it proper to touch me and touch me in secret places, I would be forever yours in death. I would rise again out of queen's egg and get into your black hair and small ear until pinched to death as I make you wake up and scream. Again and again I hatch, among the biting workers and the dreary drones and go it alone to find you and another death, this time just on your kitchen counter watching you fry bacon. And one day, you'll let me live. Another day you'll put me into an aquarium. Another day you'll let me tickle your arm. I won't bite unless you want me to.

One day you will hold and kiss my little insect body and be surprised to find a hundred fifty pound man exploding into being all over your fingers. Hopefully I will not break your arm this day.