March 12th, 1948
How I wish I was this letter! That I was held so sweetly in your hands! So caressed by your gentle eyes! Tell me, dahling, what you’ve been up to. Tell me how much you miss your little schmoopsy! Here in
p.s. I wrote you a song: “Love is a Gulag.” It’s got a terrific backbeat (my aides all say so). I can’t wait to sing it for you.
p.p.s. I included a wonderful harmonica solo in C sharp.
p.p.p.s. You don’t think the thing about the horse is weird, do you? I don’t have to do it. I would like to, though.