For John (1989):
Dear Friend,
If I was sure of thee,
sure of thy capacity,
sure to match my moods with
thine,
I should never think again
of trifles in relation to
thy comings and thy goings.
I am not very wise:
my moods are quite attainable;
and
I respect thy genius.
It is to me as yet
unfathomed;
yet dare I not presume in
thee
a perfect intelligence of
me,
and so thou art to me
a delicious torment.