Ella, dearest! Happy belated birthday! I’m typically addled and a little late. To celebrate your special day and your timeless beauty and charm, I offer this lush pink rose and a few lines of erotic poetry.
Pure sex becomes specific and concrete
in a caress of breast or slope of waist:
it flies through itself like light,
it sails on nothing like a wing,
when someone's there to be touched,
when there's nothing wrong.
From "Sex," by Michael Ryan
Your adoring Monk
