The English Classroom


She wrote a letter to him in the winter

And he read it while listening to Beethoven

The winter was crisp and the snow

Layered his home in white dust


He could not remember her well, the girl

Her short, trimmed hair smelled of honey

Her skin breathed of wild flowers

Her eyes offered a subtle flame


But he could not remember these things

Sometimes he cried when his mind remained blank

He only saw a vague face without an expression

Sometimes he saw nothing


Her memories, too, were often scattered

His hair was a wave crashing upon the sand

His lightly tanned skin occupied sweat and aggression

His eyes oozed with craving and lust


They thought about their lives together

They thought about the hours they would spend in their nest

The kettle slowly boiling each morning

The small birds squawking to awaken the day


He would say, you are like a crystalline stream

She would say, you are like a daring enigma

But such plans remained empty and unfulfilled

Such plans were only dreams


The images they had of one another were beginning to fade

Their love was falling apart

Their life was collapsing

Their dreams were merely dreams


He wanted to respond to her letter

But he could not bring himself

To pick up the pen and scrawl the words

And he left the paper blank


She waited and waited for the letter

Throughout the winter, but nothing arrived

She waited for a letter which would continue the dream

But each day there was nothing


And as the ice melted, they both knew it was over

Their short, lustful exchange was burning out

And soon they forgot one another

And they continued their lives in silence

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