Quiet as I am, I’ve been collecting.

I’ve got biting words. Snap and snarl.
Flinching words. Smack and dodge.
The thud of tired words, hitting the mattress,
shoes thumping to the rug and
sighs muffled against pillows. Cool fabric
I wish lined my throat. Stuffing.
Make it easier to talk to strangers
by not having to say anything at all.

But you, you, you have words
like I’ve never heard before.
Good words. Big words. Silver-dollar words.
Leave you gasping laughing words.
Poking jeering dancing words.
Words that sparkle at the corners
of your mouth, meeting dimples.
Champagne words. Popping bubbles.

I think maybe one day you’ll teach me
softer words. Flower growing words.
Blossoming tending harvesting words.
Coaxing words. Saplings from soil.
Just enough rain to soothe the sunshine.
Warm and plush like a palm around mine.

When you said you liked me,
the air was flush with red-tinted words.
Like the tops of your ears.
Like the apples of my cheeks.
Words that crunch into me.
Words that hollow.

We’ve got a hundred thousand words between us
and we’ll make a hundred thousand more.
Just as long as you keep talking.
Just as long as you keep me talking.

We’ll trade these words for quiet, currency,
right when we need it most.

from Ocean Growing, available on Amazon and Kindle now

xx,
Meg