To write,
to write it down?

All words
were taken,
in lines of
unrepeatable,
irreproachable
wholeness.

Then,
that sudden whirl.
Words popping,
flooding it all.

To accept:
expression is a drawing
and the self an esquisse
to built upon.
Flaws are expected.
Because it all
comes down to a need.
And that is okay.

I want to bite the flesh of your words
And let the juice of your truth trickle down my throat.
I want to inhale the scent of your joy
And graze upon your sadness
I want to devour your pain
And consume your pleasure
I want to feast on all parts of you
And relish every mouthful
Until my belly can take no more

~

When our
   hearts sing,
  echoes return
      to where
   they began,
        so they
          too may
         harmonize
           perfectly with
              *our love