Burning Love Letters A Conjecture Poem by Bill Grace

I have read of those who burn their letters
Perhaps at death or verge of war or other extremis
I can only conjecture as one
Who never fully found communion with a woman
And failed for lack of sex when it was mine
That the union was so perfect and sublime
When lost there was nothing left – not even history
But papers conversion to living flame
In appropriate memorial and fair well
For what had been and voyeur eyes denied.