when your head is on my lap,
i swear
there are a million little words that come
flooding into my fingertips.
i want to brush them onto you,
glaze your hair back sweet & sincere--
but they stick hard. buzz in my bones,
catch in my knuckles,
swirl deftly around my fingerprints so
like water boiling i feel their
fervor, percolating steady
in delicate echoes
through this earnest quiet blood,
unable to reach you
because words are not warm
enough to explain this hushed
heat between us, still & simmering & soft.
in the lamplight i trace your
profile, watch your face because
it translates life in a way i
can put these small hands
around. catch the smile wrinkles
that squint your eyes,
hold them as they filter beneath
my buzzing thoughts:
heady white stuff seeping into
brain space that soaks
like tea leaves, spreading rich
& thick onto pastel dream worlds
where i find the words
as i stroke your hair with
speechless fingers.
there, i know how to say everything we need,
there, i am not this bad at writing love poems.
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