Word Storms

I shall not waste,
No, I shall not waste too
many more words --
words for you.

A sacred wall behind you of ancient prose,
Old letters smoothed across the plaster.
Ah yes, romance is there, Sir, as you stand.
And bold black strokes and cursive curls
said volumes to the hardest heart.

Yet, she asks in a whisper
Do the letters loom large
and stand straight with formality’s guise?

Five languages you command.
Yet with me,
you are
suddenly
mute in our mother tongue.

Language full you cannot move to move me.
Language less you cannot stretch your arms
to my sunny Southern skies, Dear,
here where lightening fast Word Storms start.

Grammar, grace, and proper pauses
have their places to be sure.
And moments manufactured are
made real inside themselves.

I long to be drenched
in the heavy wetness of this world,
this now.

No, I shall not waste too
many more words
many more
words for you.