This page is too vast of an estate; too generous of an allowance, for my meagre heartache. Perhaps another language would do, employing whose alien words; My heart's entirety concisely expressed in such characters, though they be but a few.

Care and speak
Respect
Freedom of belief

Four friends together for dinner,
Made speeches while the night grew thinner,
First was, “I’d like to make a toast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

The second went with a smile,
And said, “Let’s scorn people so vile,
That decide to brag, tease and boast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

The third stood, his face full of food,
And said, though his manners were crude,
“Let us dedicate this fine roast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

“We’re all good people are we not?
Unless there’s something I’ve forgot,
Let’s announce ourselves,” said the host,
“To the man who needs friends the most.”

To me,
My words,
Are my thoughts.
Milk in a pan drifting,
Lazily in mexican waves,
On tiptoes with fingertips,
Stroking the three litre line.

to you
my words are
the time you blinked
and clots of milk swelled into pregnant pufferfishes
and a siren hissed incessant incantions you swore fate birthed to hex your mind
and a trident foamed at the mouth relishing the theft of nature's permission to shapeshift  into a lightening bolt and to zap your stove a blistering white in three times ten to the eight metres per second

pain don't matter now
breath and blood all important
sound the speech of war