This is a copy of a letter I wrote to DBS on Oct. 19, 1969.
TO A GUITAR PLAYER
Last night, I watched your hands on the guitar, and shivering with the memory of the gentle fire that consumed me, I remembered those hands playing me. I will remember that, always. I will remember, too, the rough beauty of your face pressed against mine, your lips on my lips, in the sheltering darkness. But most of all, I will remember your gentle lust that soothed all my unfed hungers and recalled me from the silence of myself.
I will not say, yet, that I love you; it is too soon for those words, but I will tell you that the sweet, sweet pressure of your body against mine, burned an eternal impression upon me, and if our paths separate, the memory of you shall haunt the corridors of my mind long after I have forgotten your name.
It was wonderful, while it lasted