A new maid

Dear Helga, I have hired a new maid. I hesitate to say that you have been replaced because it would be blasphemous to use such a term on such a singular creature. Oh, my ice-white Helga, I long, once again, to explore your smooth curves in our nocturnal rituals. Your landscape, explosive yet tender, I long to twine and explore... Your rivers, your hills, your valleys. Your words, your smells. Ah! I must stop because it is making me lovesick and lusty to write this. I fear I will spend the day--perhaps my life--in bed if I think of you anymore. I should never have laughed when you told me of your Elvish heritage because now I know it is true. I cannot believe I was such a skeptical ass--your magic will torture me the rest of my mortal days as punishment. And it is just... It is just...

And oh, you did know how to wield a sponge. The estate never shined in that gaudy manner you see on the television; rather, it was cleanliness on the verge of shattering--natural, yet unnatural. Ah! The new maid has caused my kitchen to sparkle and shine and it makes me feel filthy. It seems Lysol dissolves both germs and the stuff of beauty. I never appreciated the way you made the house mirror my soul. I fear I will never be home again.

But like a wild bird I must fly on. It is with a tinge of shame that I admit I have hired an American to clean my house. She is, as they say, "hot"--but not beautiful--and her gaze is full of vacuity, which makes things easier, I suppose, because there is nothing to corrupt. She was eager to please and had a crude charm--I knew it was a mistake but surrendered because I knew if I waited any longer I would need to hire a botanist, not a maid, for there is a taxonomy of organisms living in my toilet.

Her name is Carol. She performs her duties adequately but lacks inspiration. I fear my muse has left and that I will pass the remainder of my days in a sea of banality, the only beauty being memories that flit away from me like small, exotic fishes.