Hi baby, it’s super late and I am filled with love and longing as I lay down to sleep. The feeling of being with you is still pulsing through my veins.

I’m going to leave a short sweet poem by Catullus, one of his more famous ones, and one that he got shit for writing from his friends. The shit he got for writing this poem inspired him to write the other poem I was talking about, where tells those who mock him for writing sweet poems that he will, among other things, face fuck them. But this poem, the poem I am providing below, is not about face fucking. It’s about kissing. Lots of kissing. The sort of kissing you and I do together.

I cannot wait for more kisses, Craig. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Millions more.

Catullus 5

Lesbia, come, let us live and love, and be
deaf to the vile jabber of the ugly old fools,
the sun may come up each day but when our
star is out…our night, it shall last forever and
give me a thousand kisses and a hundred more
a thousand more again, and another hundred,
another thousand, and again a hundred more,
as we kiss these passionate thousands let
us lose track; in our oblivion, we will avoid
the watchful eyes of stupid, evil peasants
hungry to figure out
how many kisses we have kissed.