To Ambrozia

Letter to Ambrozia


Now you look here, missy!

I said you were "possibly smarter . . ." - not that I am an idiot, and I will not allow you to TOY with me!

Oh poor Ambrozia! It's a cut and paste romance! Is that what you think? And what? When the surreptitious deuteragonists and the lascivious suggestations have all been flung away like used sparklers, will you still wrench and wring me wretched oh wench?

Will you squeeze my heart with your slender fingers so that the love might bead to the surface and drip to the earth like blood, all the while as you infest my loins [!] with your french banter?

carelessly it is that you impart the name of Rick, the legend of a Grouse that grew from my love for a single word that fell from your lips . . .

Your sorrow? You eat at me like fruit and spit out my heart like a pip. From this desolate internet wasteland of recycled egos I was offered a flower that was you, that in my gentle nature I could give rain, but alas, I was only a cloud in your heart, and like I was vapour . . . I melted away . . .