words.
how can words
ever define
birth,
love,
the fiercely delicate
shape of your eyebrows
your eyes
which see me
without reflecting words
back at me.
your smell,
the warm solid softness
of your neck
where my nose
and your shoulder meet.
with each beat
of my heart
the space around me grows
until
the room,
the yellow indian quilt,
your delicately shaped skull
and the soft fine hair
which covers it,
the sound of your breathing,
dog sighs emerging
from down under
the bed,
the warmth of you,
the hiss of the heater
and
the loud beating of my heart
...
swirls around
and becomes mystery.
the mystery of this moment.
of you.
words are not moments.
they are only markers
which in time
could lead me back
to this.
this moment. this love.
