The language of love always coincided with when I use to watch my father play cards with his friends on a Sunday noon.
The difference is my cards never came with kings, nor queens.
I have only ever seemed to come across jacks and jokers.

So when I found you.
The language went from Old English to Latin. My darling, you feel like running through long grass on a warm summers day. You are utterly exhilarating.

Your callus digs into my smooth, i mistake you for rope. I hold on to you like i'm dangling over the deepest depths of the ocean. Without you I would fall, maybe the ocean is a figurative for reality.
Really all I know is this here, with you. Will be the closest to flying that I will ever achieve.