02-05-2013, 11:16 AM
I have an affinity for the small things
The sweet things
The good, complete, real things
I don't give much thought to the words
Stumbling clumsily from parted lips in dim light
Words like "commitment", "love", and "serious"
I feel them and their complexities
But I do not find their meaning in the arrangement of letters
Common characters used to spell out
What can so easily be found under our tongues while kissing
I do not cherish their sounds or their length
I do not even cherish the inflection of your voice as you say them
I hold fast, however, to the novels you leave on my neck
Inky bruises that pour out like calligraphy from a dripping quill
Mapping out passions of adolescent proportions
The language of air escaping
From in between skin pressing against skin
The alphabet carved by fingernails and coffee stained teeth
Digging and biting into rounded sweating shoulders
I find "I love you's" in your wide silent smiles
Eyes closed tight, stifling back screams
I find terms of endearment in the hot breath
That meets the small of my back before your mouth does
I feel closure under the weight of your body
I feel affection in your hands grasping my hips
There is more love in the arrangement of our limbs
Than in the arrangement of four letters
And as for "serious"?
It's nothing more than a word
If you thought things were serious,
I must not know how to be in love.
The sweet things
The good, complete, real things
I don't give much thought to the words
Stumbling clumsily from parted lips in dim light
Words like "commitment", "love", and "serious"
I feel them and their complexities
But I do not find their meaning in the arrangement of letters
Common characters used to spell out
What can so easily be found under our tongues while kissing
I do not cherish their sounds or their length
I do not even cherish the inflection of your voice as you say them
I hold fast, however, to the novels you leave on my neck
Inky bruises that pour out like calligraphy from a dripping quill
Mapping out passions of adolescent proportions
The language of air escaping
From in between skin pressing against skin
The alphabet carved by fingernails and coffee stained teeth
Digging and biting into rounded sweating shoulders
I find "I love you's" in your wide silent smiles
Eyes closed tight, stifling back screams
I find terms of endearment in the hot breath
That meets the small of my back before your mouth does
I feel closure under the weight of your body
I feel affection in your hands grasping my hips
There is more love in the arrangement of our limbs
Than in the arrangement of four letters
And as for "serious"?
It's nothing more than a word
If you thought things were serious,
I must not know how to be in love.

