It's complicated. Someone has to talk.
You're waiting… tick, tick, tick… and all my words
are frozen where they perch, like little birds
scared rigid by a circling sparrowhawk.
The moments tick tick tick our lives away.
I lose words in your body. All my lips
can mouth is you, my tongue is tasting, licking,
I hear your voice but feel your warm pulse ticking
and know you've made time fluid and it slips
between the seconds and beyond the day.
It's complicated this. I don't know what
another man would call this. I think bliss
is closest. You are perfect. You think not.
Forget my words. Remember how we kiss.