TO HENRY

- after Henry Miller & Anaїs Nin

Henry,

Tonight the Cantabrian fit entirely in the bed
of a martini glass. I dreamt of my thighs seized around you
eddying, in the shallows of gin. You only ever come
to me as specter, now: heady lover behind
the Spanish bar, reforged father leaving
through the back door. Careless man, each image I sift
of you, pools at the bottom of my inkwell and founders
before straying from port.
I course these letters to you, bringing every sentence to my lips,
lit like your Cuban cigars. When the smoke leaks languidly
from my mouth, I pray it would always rise, still fearful to
fall beneath the tropic of your desire.
I dream, too, of undressing your Venusian lovers—June—
as if the silk I slide from their hips can be spun into
the tapestry of manuscripts you make love to each night.
Protean love, come to me in Louveciennes.
I ache for you these nights. Your hands– the delta of my religion and prurience.
Your lips– the talisman of my desire.

Anaїs

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Larissa Parra, 20, Los Angeles - USA ✯

“From the California valley, Larissa’s early love for reading was found feverishly and precipitously. Currently in her last year of college, she plans to embark on an English major PhD program in New York, where she’ll finally find an excuse to spend all her days reading, writing and sharing her obsession with words.”