Caressing Your Dialect

17th Poem.
Exceptional Unshared Feeling

-x-

Every word you speak,
Every breath that slips of your tongue on each syllable.
Like a tree falling - the wolves ears rise.
The blood shuddering through the skin.
The hairs jump to attention like the corn in the wind.

For your voice, it is but the wind.
Drifting through the leaves,
Through my hair
And jumping the wave’s white.



Your voice simply mean’s nothing.
Indescribable language of impossibility through complication.

Untouchable you will drift.
But always, will those syllables make the trees fall.




My veins you elevated; you will never slip from their memories.