Lucky man / [b]rave new [whirleds]

There was a book I once read called “Lucky Jim”, by a man whom I once found very funny.

But that was another time and I was no lucky him, myself; just a sad con[fused] bundle of 

unswell unwells.

But one thing about this book I still will treasure fab is the colour of the binding: a bright piercing yeller

And whether you now have true occasion to 

bellow me mad 

for pursuing this course or not, or never,

my favourite colour and future for evermore shall remain the colour of the light you always shine[d],

even when, equal possibly, this wrongs you 

real unfine.

No matter, dear readers: I may be total mad, but am also clearly happy as any sandboy of dunes in 

grassy rise. 

And the rise you bring out of me is both sexual and thoughtful.

And when I say thoughtful, I really mean full of thoughts: the thoughts your present[s] [make]s me feel.

My love, then, as both real and unreeled: winding up and down the length of your body; and unspooling 

as wisely as grand filmic adventure.

Tendentious adventure, too.

That, dear Claire, is what I still want of you.

And if never to be sexual, let us at least make [b]rave new [whirleds]: a smack in the eye for the evil ones,


A smack in the eye for them …

Game on or not?  

Do let me know.

Do let me unmitigate a once suffering soul.

And – ultimate then! – do dine me while 

the voices wild of 

unwhiled sex regale me grand 

your leisured 


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