Love and Words

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rich and prepared

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If you were to imagine,

that your body was covered,

not in skin,

but words,

what story would they tell?


And would I have to close my eyes,

and read you with my hands?


The tips of my fingers,

tracing your words

as they reveal all the things

you cannot say.


Would you trust me

to understand?


If you were to imagine,

that your body

were a rushing river,

and I had fallen in;

would you let me

drown in your currents

or carry me to dry land?


Love seems so simple.

when we first begin,

you seem more I,

then I am.


And as time goes on,

and time is spent,

what revelations we discover

as we learn

that you,

are far more you,

than me.

 


And it is in this flowering

that I discover

what my love for you

means.


Does it wither and pass

in the knowledge that

you are so different?

Or does it take root and grow,

as I find in your soil,

ample room for my soul?


And if so? If so?

Am I fortunate enough,

and do you accept,

the knowledge that I have

of what I need

to thrive?

And after that,

do I possess the gift to give you

what you need to survive?


Imagine if,

Instead of on this destroyed bed,

we lay in a field,

furrowed by unseen hands,

watched by an unseen eye,

to see if our roots will take hold

in such rich and prepared soil.


Imagine,

if this distance between us,

was not a separation,

but a sea,

that we sailed upon

to bring to each other

all of our things.

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decagon          poetry

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