Women I've seen naked. | Dec. 11 / 1630

(Some sketches for a chronological song cycle in frayed roots style, to be completed in the warmer months of 2003.)

Oaken cruelty: She of the delicious neck and legs crossed at the ankles, who was upon me suddenly and took my inexperience between her hands gently, gently; who woke up one morning and realized it was gone.

Trashy milk: She of the curious fear and sputtered connection, who made the ultimate adolescent sacrifice for no one but me, but whose martyrdom could not inspire; who surveyed the wreck while the damage was still smouldering.

Gated decoys: She who pillaged and ransacked with clenched eyes, who could not reconcile her thrust with that which hung over her pillows; who wore me out and found another bombed-out lover.

Pulse omission: She who tried to harvest crops on a lifeless spread, who forgot that love was more than the unexpected warming of key body parts but branded it so because her wish was strong; whose wish could never have been strong enough.

Bondage, mirth, worry: She who simplified, who will never arrive; who keeps me tied because she knows that my indiscretion gave her power until further notice (and that's just fine).

Anna Despair: She who finds strength in refusing to believe, who knows that we both will have to take comfort in mutual affirmation; who will die alone, who knows it, who has convinced herself that it is just and fair and right.

A relic: She who never asked for more than I was willing to give, who could be turned inside-out but who kept her glasses on; who always arrived late and left almost everything unexplored.

Baudelaire maroon resort: She who blurred her surroundings instantly and forever, who mistook my desperate reach for a casual greeting; who doesn't realize that the invitition is there still, and who probably wouldn't accept even if she suddenly realized -- or, worse, knew all along -- that it exists, and that it has existed from the beginning, and that it will always be there.

Monday patterns: She who was looking for nothing, who got nothing in return; who is better off not knowing that there was something she could have had.

Love Todd.