I have nothing left to give you but my words
But they can be powerful, words,
Fastened together or single stemmed
Sailing upon electric waves, pooling in
Synapses, innumerable words,
The genesis of my thoughts, words
Which overfill and flood my mind, words
For you. Stretch out your palms:
I’ll kiss them ever softly and place upon
Their long lined gentle coating all my words.
You will have hands filled with eclectic language,
With words praising the essence of you,
And praising your kindness, amiable, your mischief, playful,
Your curiosity, exploring and inexhaustible.
There’ll be words to love you with, and bed you with,
And feel and taste your skin with my lips with.
I will invent new words for all the secret, tender
Stanzas of your body, and give you luscious words,
Sweet-fruit, delight filled words, words
That tell how each detail of your manner and stately
Countenance is now imprinted within each cell of my body.
There are melancholy words I want to give you
But those I will plait with music
My effort to allay their sadness
In the embrace of a song.
Take my cocoon of music and of sorrow
Store it inside the fertile soil of your soul,
Nourish it there, turn it to salve
Use it when the world leans heavy on your shoulders
And labours you to search for respite,
Yearn for reflection, yearn for the aesthetic.
Perhaps it’s grandiose, this scheme of mine
To send you all these words. But I will send them,
Packed inside a florist’s box and mixed
With every redolent blossom I can find.
And if you choose to open the box and touch
The blossoms, please also run your fingers
Through my words. They are only meant to comfort you.
And so, my love, since there is nothing else that
I can give you, I ask that you receive into your home,
Into your heart, out of their box, my greedy words.