Goodbye Gertrude

I thought that, before you were mine, the address, which you gave. The goods; it is because they are impossible. So it was said.

Potentially, apart from…

It was all due to the cold mornings of Sundays; It took the sun, It who is increased with the colour of memory, and that Insect put the correct question in the sky. The interior part of my church passes from the timber of oak. It has the white toe of the grave and the person of decisiveness made of marble gel; the marble gel that is finished in the village. I love you in street that is influenced by Noises. OH these noises!   How is it that in the wall that conscientiousness connects me to! The clue is in the table of my fenced brain! The fact: the noises open also from my heart; pour the iron of treatment of rust from the region that is closed! OH these noises! The noises for this Sunday!

Goodbye Gertrude; hello Gregory!

It is, for that sad fact that I imported the virtuous only the morning. Only the impossible imported goods are found. They are potentially only imported since they are regulated. This is a deterrent!  (If it is then it denies that what it is not).

Yours,

Toby

Dear Toby,

I feel that this shall be my last address to you. As to why I cannot say.

Save perhaps this...

It was a cool Sunday morning, the sun rose with a hint of rose and insects were abuzz in the air. As I stepped outside the back oak double-door of my church and into the graveyard, I thought to myself, ''I must see Toby''. I ran past the white tombstones and the porcelain faces of the marble angels, across the village and into your street and then it hit me; the Sound. Oh that Sound! How it grates at the walls of my consciousness! Scratches at the blackboard of my mind! Squeaks open and closed the rust wrought-iron gate of the ante-chamber of my soul! Oh that Sound! And on Sunday!

Goodbye Toby,

I am only sorry that what was was, that what could have been never was, and that what is going to happen might actually happen, for things are as they are (there is no denying that it is).

Yours,

Sadly Yours no-longer,

Gertude.

Oh...

Am I to take it that you have patched things up with Mephisto? I question the wisdom of that decision my dearest toby. Have you forgot the whole carpet-and-bathtub incident? So soon?

As a new recruit to camp-booby I feel I have the authority to condemn her behaviour outright. She possesses none of those virtues pertaining to womanhood, none of that bounciness, none of that giggliness, none of that chattyness, none of that breeziness. I for one can understand her position, for I too find the norms of womanhood like a weight on my breasts. But one must be virtuous! And as for the fur, there I have no excuses!

Affectionately,

Gertrude.

P.S. Yet to give her her due, she does have beautiful fangs.

Dear Professor,

You, of all people, should know well enough not to mention the dimensions of your fleshy compact discs over the interweb! I certainly did not! Now, my beloved Mephisto is baring her beautiful fangs at me. She is, at this very moment, leaping from that wretched matrimonial bar stool. Her mouth is wide open; hungry for my blood. As I type this letter to you, oh Gertrude, my wife's succulent fangs have just punctured my jugular and in an ecstasy I get woozy... and all this due to your grandiloquent reference to your large areeeeeeee..........

TOBY!

I will not have my newly fashioned bosom talked about in public! I overheard someone who had eavesdropped on a conversation Jennifer (that horrible big-calved woman) was having with Helen (that pestilential cow) about you. Apparently you have been telling everyone down there that I have large areolae. I will have you know that no one has ever seen my not-overlarge areolae except my pet goldfish, once and on a particularly tenebrous afternoon.

Hurt,

G.

Dearest Toby,

Your lascivious letter has perplexed me. I am somewhat (40%) incensed that you have banished me from my manhood. However I am more than a little (55%) intrigued and, dare I say it, giggly by your gentle and gentlemanly words. And more over I am even modestly (a precise 25%) inclined to retort with lady-like words.

Lest you think my new bountiful form has addled with my arithmetical skill, I realize that the sum total is somewhat more than your standard 100%. Yet from my rough calculations and after prolonged consideration of the unquestionable and age old medical fact that emotions are housed 'in one's breast', my new and more anteriorly prominent physique can house 20% more emotion - 10% worth in each, lets say, appendage.

Yours blushingly,

Gertrude

x

Dearest Professor,

(Because you are still a Professor aren't you?) From the mountains of Olympus I would swoop down to grasp your bosom out of the fiery pits of Hades. Your new, and more spherical, form sends me into an ecstatic delirium. Your engorged thorax brings delight to the previously baron wasteland of gehenna. It bodes well that you are romped by your very own hormones. 'Tis but a preparation for our next friendly rendezvous.

I am,

Yours in waiting,

Toby