Let’s find
those words,
the kind of
words that flow together
in a nearly
effortless stream,
conveying
all the multiple
explosions of
verbiage
needed to
express
all the desires
in my
head.
Those words,
slippery
little devils,
squirming
away at the last moment
like eels in
some greasy river
as you
splash down into the brine
to reel one
up by hand,
tricky and
illusive,
and
sometimes completely
wrong.
I was fishing
for
gratitude
and reeled up
envious
tripe, which wriggled
and fought
and so I gleefully
threw it
back, knowing in this
mucky trickle
there must be something
better to
express my, my… words.
The words
in the muck.
I want a
partner to help me,
a confidant
to let me know if
the word on
the line is worth keeping
or if I
should throw it back,
Love, or
lust? Which should I keep?
Heartache or
heart-break? Which do
I toss back?
Someone on
the shore waiting for me,
as I wade knee
deep in sucking mud.
Let’s find
those words,
in this place,
where they flow together,
and our
bodies can mingle and linger,
like the
water, on the shore,
on the bank,
wrapped in the embrace of
love
language and the gentle swirling
of
understanding.
Clad only in…
… I need a nibble on this line.
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