My words are about you, about your taut skin
and the seaside blue of your eyes and the heat
pulsating from my cathedral, your body.
My words are about you, my greatest desire,
my poor words, impoverished and dependent
on adjectives, nouns, verbs...trifles.
My words are about you, they are calloused ropes
set to ensnare you, to halt time and rip space
and hold you steady and immortal.
My words are about you, and so about me
and my futile attempts to work base metals
into refined gold.
My words are about you, poor offerings from a poor beggar,
the only thing I can give you since you already
have my beating heart.
My words are about you, and I sing them like a bird
freed from the cage sings a song carried
aloft on white tufts of cloud.
My words are about you, and now I listen
as you cast forth the spell of your words,
and our words are about us.