(saying good-bye to a always pretending but dead friend)
I've burned it to welcome Christmas them, plucked have oils scented stronger than mint as vapor when crushed in the palms, Is it yours though - that hand? That had the privilege like the same ergodicity - you have that always leaves you silent when crucial, touching, some sort of stone masonry you've build always in your mind It isn't yours, but glad - I am that neither; nor your neck now on a rope will be swinging under my apple tree, Please at least die in dignity; since you had that rather; than have to patch desires and do turn the bundle of strings knot the right way, so it will snap your cat neck fast! --- Dimitrie is back again, you ignoring all said - unfelt it isn't difficult anymore, you two being together again as your letter states, almost notes Yes! It was very easy. Dimitrie left his socks after the stream and place you two barefoot tiptoeing through my garden, o how beautiful...
Thourn Whaul, March'08 (less we forget)
Mortum my Gum Accroides?