In Other Words

Words move hearts to measures,

That challenge reason,

And deny the meanings of things,

Announced, pleaded, screamed,

And I whisper these like thunder,

To overtake the stirring of your doubts,

As my lover,

These words, I pour over your brow,

As an anointing oil that cleanses,

The impurities of uncertainty,

That linger in my absence,

And for brevities sake,

I delay, remaining in the now,

Of our intense yearning,

To hear something,

That doesn’t sound cliché,

 In love, I slowly invoke,

These loving chants that ring,

Like songs of storied loves,

And for the time being,

Delicately thread each moment,

That passes between us,

With chains of wishes expressed,

In non-fictitious fables of romance,

That if pulled apart are nothing more,

Than words that by chance,

Sound solemn enough,

Sufficiently passionate in touch,

To fill in where syllables,

Though less than,

Adequate to state with any strength,

What they are meant to elaborate,

Flush the tender skin of your cheek,

Rouged by faith,

But blushed by weakness,

To resist their promise,

Upon what ear have they ever fallen,

That trusts the fragrant danger of them,

When there are feelings that describe,

More precisely, both love and lust,

Without giving mention,

To such expression built of words,

Sans the contrived nature of impressionists,

Similes formed on the lips of linguists,

And romantic masters,

In blocks of intentional sounds,

Strung together as a dam to the sound,

What surrounds this peninsula,

Of affection that we stake our claim to,

And for far less, I stretch my mind,

To present a typed kind of spoken mime,

That best presents the depth of lives,

Filled with passion,

And I press them to paper,

Made of memories,

Bound by hope,

Folded over dreams,

And in shame, I risk everything,

That means anything,

To express these,

Without flinching at the sound of them,

As merely pretty words,

Because I mean them.