Sunday, 27 February 2011
I may not remember every individual diamond encrusted, glittering sweet of a word you whisper to me
late at night,
But I can feel the shimmery haze of them
all lined up,
Each one squirming to be heard over the promises of the others.
How could the cold ever get a word in edge wise?
There's nowhere for it to go.
Your words drape over me,
I can feel them.
Your warmth is melting me,
turning me over on your tongue.
Don't spit me back out.