Written from the heart of Elwood Jake:
Silken, opaque, what is her skin but to the touch of a man pure love? We were sitting on nice little round carpets each one a soft cup for our naked, simple passion. The question that stared back at me from her cut into me, sliced my guts, picked me up then smashed me back. Do you love me? I could not answer with my voice but stood to her and kissed the top of her head. That hair, have you ever smelled the purity of a young girl’s hair? I have. I remember touching the top of my daughters head with my lips, then holding her up to me and kissing the tears from her cheeks. I remember kissing her forehead as she lay in her coffin. I remember the love, the smile that never burdened callous heart, but sugar fizzed from her eyes. You know that kind of sugar candy that melts on your tongue? She was like that my little girl, a sharp bright sugar explosion of instant happy. I walked away from her that day and into your life. There are not really any good words to tell of us. Certainly others would not think that passion placed on the plates of two such as we are could ever be compared to the death of a child, but that is what it is, like the death of a beloved child. It never ceases does it really? The pain, the passion, the heartbreak? Yet, it is reborn into our hearts as the sun creeps up and peeps up of a good winter morning. You know, how it breaks that sullen beauty of the night? Someone once asked me to speak of love and I could not until the day of death and rebirth. Then I knew of love beyond the fringe of anger or hatred or heartbreak. Yes dear, love is as the death of a child.
