They say that, to make any sense, poetry has to be read aloud. Like it's all line and punctuation and periods and words. But how can you read aloud the poetry of a kiss when the whole world stops to watch what you're doing but you don't care because you're wrapped in the moment and the moment's wrapped in you and you're there and it's just....
ocean waves kiss the shore. No, they make love to the shore in sweet serene stillness that goes in and out...in....out...like breath. Like love.
I'll read aloud the poetry of you in kisses that somehow become gasps because you touch me. I'll read the poetry of your face in nights that start late and end even earlier. Nights that turn your whole world upside down simply because you came.
Or maybe those were days. I'm not really sure. But you were there, and I was there, and we were reading poetry together with our lips.
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