I read your face like it’s a piece of literature. 
Your pages run endlessly like a stream of strong syllables and sounds that power our communication. 
Yet you still have this incoherent tapestry of words and letters scattered in your eyes. 
I see your lips forming the analogy your mind speaks. 
I can feel it and you know what you feel. 
You know you can express it. 
But you won’t.
I look at your beauty in the hope you will explain what your heart desires. 
We speak the same language, yet you still do not understand me. 
You play the reckless game of words vs action. 
While no words are spoken you blind me with your actions. 
I forgot you have a wall of words you won’t let me through. 
Your guard is full of hidden meaning.
Please let me in. 
What is this war of silent words we are playing? 


I wish I could walk past you like a piece of art that hangs in a gallery or a novel that sits in bookshop amongst the others. But I chose you 
The closed book 
The incomplete painting.