The air is voilent today,
and I reflect on the too long it’s been
since I’ve written to you;
about how my fingers trace the subtle valleys of your back.
How my eyes bat away your tangling tresses
as I whisper kisses behind your ear.
Since I’ve used far too many words to deliver a message I tell you daily.
But my live performance is never as eloquent as my literary self.
My three word admission my gun, bullet, my entire arsenal.
I worry if it is enough. Perhaps…
To offer a humble love in its raw form.
But if you wished
I’d gather the words of love from all languages,
to uniquely submit to you each day