All the words
in the world
and I can chew them up
and paste them back down
again,
with pencil on paper,
with ink,
with ones and zeroes.
I can translate them
and I can say them
and I can sing them
and I can imagine them
and I can give them color and form.
All the words
in the world
and I can frame them,
gild them,
chain them,
festoon them
with baubles and sugar cake.
All the words
in the world
and I can crack a whip
and make them do nearly
my every bidding,
call up images
that evoke brilliance and sweetness,
hope and joy,
power and knowledge.
All the words
in the world,
and I know all of them,
and have tasted them
all on my tongue.
Not one of them
is good enough
to name what my heart knows
of you,
what it has tasted
of you.
Not one,
not a bible’s verse,
not a king’s speech,
not a bard’s sonnet.
They all fall short,
far
short.
They are my greatest gift,
and they are nothing like worthy.
Love me, anyway,
and I will spend my life
trying to make a new language for us,
one that will capture
all of what my heart
feels,
and how much of that
is yours.
