Over Words

A sweet taste at the tip of
my tongue-soft and strong
syllables; depth of touch
like ivory keys and finger-
tips become sounds
and I their only motion.

Pronounced words-my lips
aren't poise, fumbling this
and that, but I lay over
speaking, silence over 
repeating. And I can
touch you like so.

Holding seconds as breaths, 
exhaling them as though 
time has not moved memory.

I can feel you beneath my 
skin, I in your pulse as we 
are whispers of a shadow 
beside lost conversations.
How can I articulate my 
thoughts that don't know 
their own beginnings

with you?

I can lay beside you until I can't,
as a mouth can say I love you until

it can't.

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