Speaking in whispers

 

And we can talk all night

in silent words, our thoughts

painted on the walls

of our fear reddened cheeks,

we can let that

fear slowly sleep

as we let

our hearts

beat in conversation

instead.

 

And in whispers we can let out our secrets.

Those things that are kept only between us

and the moon above, a growing orchard of

fresh fruit, that all tastes of love.

I’ll listen intently.

and I’ll share myself, gently

in a sea of kissed butterflies.

For our words are more than a simple sentence.

We are a presence, and our language speaks in

the moments of silence,

and the longing

looks held in passion.

 

And we can talk all night,

our words patter

across the windows,

raindrops on glass, fragile

but sturdy enough to form puddles,

to forge rivers through

countrysides so vast,

to form oceans

we can just dive in and bask

in the hidden depths.

 

And we can whisper

in the ticking of clocks,

the way time stops, when eyes lock,

we can feel sensuous seconds elapse,

and twist the clock back

to a memory of the past,

or skip it forward to a future

where we see ourselves

watching over

new horizons.

As deep as we want to be.

In the silent whispers our seas

will never be shallow,

for our words are not hollow.

 

And when we let those words fly,

their wings soaring into the starlit night,

we can open our hearts more, pour out

our words to lay out a blanket fort

across the floor, and playfully

we can explore our minds,

we can sit in their silence

as they whisper stories,

put them together

into a piece of poetry

that future generations

will scour for truth, for clues.

For the words that whisper.

I love you.