How many words
are required
that I might explain
how You have left me wordless?
Poems defiantly
settle in my fingertips;
never to be written or read,
but to touch Your cheek
and trace Your lips instead.
Prayers once spoken
refuse to leave my tongue;
they linger and burn,
then turn themselves to kisses.
Oh tell me Love,
that this is the Language awaiting.
For my heart is a silent sonnet,
and Your Name my only creed.
Hush and listen Love,
to the warm and wild wind
of this wordless passion freed.
c.2012 oakabbey
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