My tongue is stilled

My tongue is stilled

The words I choose do not flow

Their inadequacy when obliged to form,

Laid bare.

Once erudite, my conversations

Range in meaningless progression

A pointless meander.

I struggle to keep silent.

When conscious of the need to save face,

Communication is reduced

To a succession of grunts.

Formless groans

That may once have been a prelude

To a poem or song, will simply

Make no sense,

Or coalesce into a thing of beauty.

What you see when looking at me

Is any ones guess.

Jig saw thoughts,

A few pieces short

Discarded before they realise,

Scatter as dust on the wind,

Born, only to die

In a welter of confused swirls

And risible thermals.

There is a flush of heat against my cheek,

Your kiss has no need of words

And you are amused at the foolishness

Of my embarrassed silence.

Lines too easily written are never enough.

It takes so much more

Than I have said before

To show the nature of real love.

It is in every single look,

The slightest smile, briefest touch,

The very longest silence

That feels so fleeting

You barely notice its passing.

It is in the helping hand

Given freely, without demand.

The gentlest kiss

That faint smell of her hair,

The perfume that lingers

In the air,

All these things will be missed

When love is not there.

But when it is,

Believe me,

Love will grow

Both between and within,

It will beguile and fulfil,

Will never be still.

And will reach maturity

With or without the sun,

Or the rain,

As long as you dare to open your heart,

The moment the internal whispers

And fluttering starts,

Risk the pain,

Listen, look closely,

It is out there, the truth laid bare,

All you need to do

When it comes your way

Is grasp it, hold on tight

And do not let it go,

Just go with it.