When we read words, they are different.Your words have real unsweetened cream.... tart thick sauce.... and sharp persimmon juice. (My words are fast-food, heavy and simple.)
When you speak the words of a poem, I am melted from a deep place and suffer to lift my eyes to yours. (When I read words from the page they are practical and indigestible.)
The authors you speak of drink rare tea, enjoy long smokes and intimate friendships with young girls on a Sunday afternoon. (The authors I read only exist in the present and then vanish like Sunday adds for pizza and rental carpet cleaners.)
Even this is wasteful....
I want to know your words...
...and to release the ones I thought were life giving.
For my words stop just outside of my face.... and yours.... whisper love in perfect french smoke rings.
1 comment:
these are dense, thick, and palpable utterances, friend. I like this post! :) ~Suz.
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