QHL0005: Still Gay, Still Yours

Folded in quarters, a pink envelope sealed with a faint lipstick kiss. The letter inside is handwritten in blue ink. As the stanzas go on, the handwriting gets increasingly erratic, as if laughter, wine, or both took over.

Historian’s note: Found tucked inside a copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Sea Shanties, between pages 77 and 78. No explanation offered, none required.

My darling (whose name I shan’t name),

You once said my rhymes were a shame.

But I’m feeling quite bold,

And the wine’s not yet cold,

So here’s verse to rekindle our flame.

I woke up today in a chair

With a sock in my tea, I swear.

The cat looked alarmed,

The toast was un-charmed,

And I still found your hair on the stair.

Last week I fell off a small wall—

(No injury, just pride and a brawl)

Some child with a kite

Declared me a fright,

Then gave me a lollipop. Gall!

I tried to be subtle and suave,

Like a butler, or maybe a chav.

But you made me grin

From my toes to my chin

So I did a small dance in a lav.

Do you recall Brighton in May?

We kissed near a shellfish buffet.

You spat out a clam,

I sang you a jam,

And the waitress just whispered, “…okay.”

There once was a bookshop in Kent

Where we went to pretend to repent.

We fondled a shelf,

Then each other (stealth!)

And left very much unrepent.

My thoughts are quite scrambled by now.

The gin’s done its worst, and oh wow—

This pen’s running dry,

But I’ll still testify

You’re the reason I still say “and how!”

So my dear, if you’re reading this letter

And wondering, “could I do better?”

You could try, it is true,

But they won’t rhyme for you,

And they certainly won’t wear my sweater.

Still gay, still yours,

T.

(with lipstick on the mug, not the mouth)