I think of you continually how many years since I held Mayakovsky in my hand at the bookshop by the river two fragile sparrows you with your seven thousand books that you lay down on at night Oh how lucky was Rimbaud and Dylan Thomas, you were Caitlin, a velvet beauty , you could have been the Madonna painted on a wall by Andrei Rublev, eternity etched in your face, I was your keeper of madness you said. Vvvvv is a letter I cannot complete because I am not complete, you spoke of this writer, that poet and I was just a boy listening to your gobsmacked wisdom, and then came the advent of Christ and I got lost and you dear rose bore the brunt of my fury, I became a hungry ghost while you became a star.