“I respect your identity”
isn’t romantic
it isn’t dramatic, or inspiring
“I love you”
is beyond a cliché
but I mean them when I say them
I mean well
the things that words are not
can be powerful
and words themselves
are not complete without absence
or ubiquitous in scope
I wouldn’t ask them to be
and if I could talk to words
with words
I’d truly be onto something
now figure that one
tell me something new
while you affirm
everything
I already know
every stray thought
and every muzzled rabid thought
unleashed
everything unsaid
the syllabic crescendo
that punctuates the gap between
each spoken utterance
the silence in the decibels
deafening and terrible
“Am I over-analyzing?”
isn’t a closed question
or intended as one
articulate your musings
or execute your muse
a pragmatist to the end
and not every ending
achieves understanding
if I could translate
my body language
it would be pig latin
smeared in mud and shit
sacred to a few
bacon to some
and wild to others
some say my words might fly
“I respect your will”
“I love your willingness”
exercise caution
when spreading your wings
or otherwise
your gentle legs
this isn’t nihilism, but
these thoughts I think
have the overbearing relevance
of a dead language