I
would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. Now, it would be
hard to distinguish you from your words and then I'd constantly fear what would
happen to you and me if you ever ran out of words or were too tired to write
for me, about me and about us.
I
would marry you so I can see you wake next to me every morning, just to say I, once
upon a time, was woken by the rays of the sun that came radiating through the
corners of your eyes and be sanctified with your "awful" morning
breath that wouldn't be so awful anymore when you are mad at me and aren't talking
to me because of my love for other women, sometimes I obliviously carry the
spirit of Jezebel with me and inadvertently err with my lustrous every wandering
eye so pardon me for my gluttony. I command you to prune me to your liking, to the
greatness of heart lead me.
I
would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. I'd tell you how I
fell in love with your rhymes and haiku's and how I yearn to be your fountain
of inspiration, just a word or two in your poetic hymns, living inside your
mind, the ink mothering every scribble, an inhabitant to your dwelling of
creativity, what a patriot I’d become.
I would marry you so I can
tell you that you are beautiful in instances when you feel your worst and kiss
away the traces of your pain from your countenance. I'd tell you how much your
words healed me way before you met me, I'd tell you how I played your voice
like a record over and over in my head before you could even hear the sound of
my voice. I'd tell you how the world stops when you speak so you can know your
worth. I'd tell you how the world worships your very existence when you feel
unwanted.
I would marry you if I
wasn't already in love with your words. I'd scribble my affection all over your
body just like those tattoos you elegantly wear and adorn you with piercing
attention so you never feel the solitude of your world. I'd assure you
immortality so we can bask in never ending pillow talks after our sexual
debates as we mend the broken limbs from the wilderness. After every intimate communion,
the scars on your body would let known the tales of how I worshipped the tone
of your voice wrapped in moans translating pleasure, the intimate narrations of
your soul. Your speech would be cluttered with words of how your spirit
travelled every corner of paradise owing to my caress, how you tapped out of
the Devil's cradle sprinting to my rescue so you can tan in the pleasures of my
embrace and you would debut to the world the pages as you jotted them out from my womanhood.
I would marry you if I wasn't already in love
with your words and I'd be your light to your journey to every cigarette as I
breathe in every part of your soul you breathe out. I’d sail away with you to
every piece of my mind just to show you that it’s okay to be broken. I’d let
you surf the depths of my fears just to show you that I too cry at night. I’d
let you nail me in anger as you rebuke me for all my sins just so you can save
me as if you were my saviour and I resurrect to the power of your warmth.
© GayKindaLove 2012-10-18