I think about you and the spaces between us
my thoughts rarely strayed away to
someone else.
I think about your stolen words of love
how the words dance, tinker
how they tiptoe to cover
the wide expanse between us.
How many of them are lost, unemphasized,
misinterpreted, sensationalized.
How many are clouded with deceit, false intimacies –
how they spread like wildfire.
I find your words in the most unusual places:
see them slip under my bedsheet at night
still find them tender and sweet the next day.
Or sometimes in swift, passing cars.
Even in deepest recesses of my wallet.
I hear those words too, how they echo
like pairs of feet huddling inside a cathedral
or feral dogs growling mad on the road.
The words, they break into a run, drawing closer
to its final landing
until finally they roughly carve
a heart, more than once
made to throb and flutter.
The enchanted syllables, I imagine
you once enclosed on your mouth
blow a tender kiss on my cheeks –
a thousand love poems.
Old Vehicle in a Barn 