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She doesn't say much
With words or phrases
That would be cliche
And she might regret
Saying something
Out loud, post-context
But she writes novels
With her eyes and hips
her smiles, her breasts
her breathless wonder
the laughing wrinkles
Of love and joy
Loss and redemption
Forgiveness and
Correcting misunderstandings
I wish I had the hours
To read every nuanced line
A second time
So that I can better remember
That love isn't about the sound
Of lips and teeth shaping air
But the feelings we share
On the living room floor
Near the smoldering fire
Near the moment I have to go
With glances and arched eyebrows
Cold hands and teeth bared
A head on a shoulder
An inexplicable tear
Growth and acceptance
Punctuated by grace
Punctuated by silence
Punctuated by flowers
With words or phrases
That would be cliche
And she might regret
Saying something
Out loud, post-context
But she writes novels
With her eyes and hips
her smiles, her breasts
her breathless wonder
the laughing wrinkles
Of love and joy
Loss and redemption
Forgiveness and
Correcting misunderstandings
I wish I had the hours
To read every nuanced line
A second time
So that I can better remember
That love isn't about the sound
Of lips and teeth shaping air
But the feelings we share
On the living room floor
Near the smoldering fire
Near the moment I have to go
With glances and arched eyebrows
Cold hands and teeth bared
A head on a shoulder
An inexplicable tear
Growth and acceptance
Punctuated by grace
Punctuated by silence
Punctuated by flowers
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