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Dearest…

Insipred by the woman who most inspires me, Virginia Woolf.

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Dearest…

Clarissa floats from
time to place
to memories
back, and forth

Leonard digs weeds
from their roots
persistently
watching

Virginia immerses herself
in Clarissa, Sally
her mind
(and the river)

Forging a work of fiction,
A love letter that brands
the protagonist’s hands
Mrs Dalloway – these words are for you

These words written sparesly, in
pepperings of time
faded love letters on pages,
crumpled and unfolded,
where the handwriting spider-dances from each page to the next

sketches, kisses –
hurriedly scribbled in London cafes
(the waiter leaned over to see
what the woman scrawled –
so passionate was she!)

To dinner parties
Veiled in romance.
From Richmond to imagination,
where winding steam trains
chunter
And lovers stroll
arm-in-arm
on boulevards
where men tip their hats
and the women twirl parasols.

And then to the end
settling ungraciously into puroseful steps
with weighted pockets
and bowed head
thick with the memory
of imagination
memories of conversations had
with friends forged within her
own mind.

I hope death was what you imagined.

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