I speak to you as a lover,

this is about my longing and possibly yours,

to make sure I make time out of Time to be a lover.

Am alone now and I am nesting somewhere that is not home.

There is a storm outside

and there is a fire in this room

and there is a book I brought from Italy

called Un apprendistato - Il libro dei piaceri, Clarice Lispector wrote it in 1969.

I thought to use this storm, this room with a fireplace, this book,

to weave an apprenticeship for me and for you to be a lover.

To make love reminds me of becoming an artisan,

the love maker,

love as something one forges out of sustained labour, with their hands.

To make love out of anything.

Pleasure and feeling good do not always overlap for me.

We can make deep love with shadows and cracks and the terror of discomfort.

We will stay in this bedroom or living room,

a place with a couch or a bed and carpet maybe and some objects and a door that is closed.

You can embark this learning alone, as a journey in idiocy and self intimacy,

or with others and become perverts, alone together.