Can words ever reclaim their ability to be uttered? To be something so needed to be said, a soliloquy sized burp forms in the amorphous ether? Can I translate to you the utmost desire, with the words that ride as sailboats on the ocean of sight? We cannot reclaim the words, I fear and I pray, because words are puzzles without edges, and they are the ashes from the fire, the skin that’s been shed. I am falling down a slippery slope of love; it’s too moist here to get up, too good to be true. Words have turned into Truth only as fingertips on flesh or breath on my neck. I feared the lessening distance between me and you. Feeling you in words was safer. I used to sing to you from the shore. But I fear I must express,
my deepest interest.
I don’t speak best with words, but when I use them, I want to touch you everywhere.