Most words blow through the breeze as I swing high on a swing

Every day Mojo seeps through a filter in my brain
Draining as processed

"Buzz" words in my every day profession
Glide on through like water moving over river rocks
No second thought

But when words stick
It's Intimate
Like two bodies on a warm summer night
Not letting go
The words smear
Against our chests
And could be wiped away
But chosen not to be.