Letters In the Library

As I sit in the musty library In a once great house I read, not one of the leather bound tomes That fill the shelves from floor to ceiling But a collection of letters Neatly tied in ribbons And they take my breath away For each page is part of a remarkable story About a most extraordinary couple And their exceptional love story For this lovingly devoted couple Never met Yet their love was evident In their personnel correspondence, No in their Love letters Let’s say it how it is The flowery words of an affaire d’amour Echoed in the calligraphy on every page Each billet doux More affectionate and romantic than the previous They bill and coo on every page Each lovingly constructed sentence Heavily laced with innuendo Subtle yet explicit at the same time Flavoured with delicious nuances Flirtatious and lustful Romantic and affectionate A love of such purity Not for its pureness of thought But for the absence of any hope of physicality She was an invalid, bed ridden He a subject of an enemy state So she couldn’t go to him He couldn’t come to her They could never meet, would never meet So they made love via correspondence An affair lasting more than forty years Only ending with his death His dying wish that her letters be returned to her So that they at least should lie together