Your Words
our words are born, not spoken.
Dimensional, soft voweled words,
palpable to the eye or to the fingertip ...
exquisitely curved, as the young that wildflowers conceive.
Often I have watched your lips shape words
and your tongue nudge them out like small birds
not certain of their wings.
Your sweetest words
are those shaped ovally
like plums or wild birds' eggs.
The long bright ribbons you laugh
the multitudes of hyacinth and bluebells.
When I see words like soft gray catkins I know
they are of romance whatever else my ears register.
Your mouth is like the flesh of a ripe fig,
I often want to take your words unsaid.
The brown honey-bear slips his red tongue into
the nest of sleeping bees.
Slurping out the honey as they sleep.
The sweet natural taste.
The pussy-willow feel of your words
is lovelier than their shape or music.
COPYRIGHT 2012 ACB
Copyright © Athena Beauchamp | Year Posted 2014
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