Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
Poems in Letters, part 3

Dear Camille,

It's weird, that moment of being sexually attracted to someone 
who might be dead. You weren't the first. When N. died, I loved 
her desperately, my feverish hands closing over a ghost.

Last night's bath left my scalp itchy. This morning the view out 
the kitchen window down to the port (factories and warehouses) was 
of a dreamy peachy pink sky over the glossy bay. The colors were 
so pretty they whirred.

I'm sick of being here, in pretty-land.

Bad sex. Abusive sex. Kinky sex. Established sex. Tunnel of love sex.
Buried muscles in chalk. Big toe in a bottle, buried again.
You can imagine my amazement when I heard you were not dead!
Your living warmth made me sleepy. I slept for four days.

Love, Lucy


camille roy