you speak to me
in the softest voice
murmuring words i do not understand
"Français," you purr
but i know better
the inflections are
all wrong
and the consonants crash
like seagulls diving
into a morning harbour
off the shores of Portugal
"Pas de français," i whisper
and a nervous giggle
pops through your pursed lips
until another thought quiets the waves
of uncertainty to form
inviting pools of blue mystery
in your eyes
you touch me
with feather fingers
tracing senses i barely remember
across the map
of my rough skin
until you find your way
to Babel
where suddenly
you stop
pull your hand away
and leave an empty space
between my body and yours
a gap so small
and yet somehow
so deep and wide
i rush to fill it
before it measures and defines
eternity
you listen to
every sound my body makes
as i tumble over and into you
and you echo
the pandemonium of my longing
with quiet submission
your lips silencing my lips
even as i try to shape in language
what i feel
your kiss turning words into
a final rush of breath
escaping from me
into the dark
my unspoken promise
unformed but unwavering
written forever
in an indistinct language
across your heart
How is it that my favouite poem has no comments? I feel safe reading it, because it is not fresh and raw with yesterday's thoughts sticking out of it at angles..no, it is soft and comfortable here in the dark archives. It is like a closet with familiar smells where I can hide and remember what love is about. And should I ever doubt your brilliance..it is gleaming right here ..
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