You say in your letter that you don’t mind being restricted by the boundaries of the blue box, that you can deal with that, that you need the parameters. This worried me a bit. I am reading between the lines ( maybe I am reading between the outlines of your arms by your sides and your arms stretched above your head) I am thinking that you want me to see you proud and stretching upwards. That is all very well. But what if you broke through the boundaries and your spindly arms flew upwards to the sky? How would you feel then?

your heart is on fire, your house is gushing flames and blood, drips of love spill from your fingertips and your juices splash wherever you walk.  Take care with your brain all cabbage-rosey, your ears like young buds.  You think you have this man on a string, can dangle him at foot level, pierce him with love arrows, contain him in the stripes of your stockings.  You make me afraid.  You are erupting and brilliant, but your eyes have slipped from their sockets.  I don’t think he is man enough for this.  I don’t think he can take your chimneys of flame, your rosettes of passion.  Your thighs vibrate, your hips shimmy, but he’s just an ordinary guy – he can’t take too much excitement.  He may want neat hedges and clipped lawns and a carport.  He may want a gentle routine with milky drinks at bedtime – they usually do.  And anyway – he looks like a miserable bastard.  I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’d advise you to kick him into touch as soon as possible and use your energy in a more worthwhile cause.