Even before a thought leaves my mind with its open arms out to grab your mind and in it, settle Carrying little of itself but most of me. I am supposed to use words I am supposed to touch Sing, sometimes. That is all that i can do to close Our experiential distance You will recognize from how i speak the words i say the way my lips quiver and eyes close what i mean. I want you to be my experience Feel my pulse as i feel my pulse As a cadential gesture of unison. But between us there is this huge valley full of words That were spoken, that were almost spoken That are yet to be spoken, That are implicitly spoken That are translated Between your experience and mine My very act of love is a translation.
Mostly I brush life off my shoulder when it falls gently from a tree, or when it grows from my shirt like lint. Mostly i sigh it away like a laugh from an unfounded joke or a waft of extra air in speech. Except sometimes.