Was it the curves of the script that bent your heart? Or the rush of the feeling as the ink began to start?
When the Soul-vowel meets
the Body-consonant,
did the rhythm break into
three beats? Or four?
You wait at the edge of the line,
holding onto a lover's quarrel
just to complete the meter.
Then comes the question, my dear:
"Is your love for me... or for the language?"
What a question to ask.
You are the one
who made words a necessity.
You are the architect
of these infinite rhythms.
In the perfect alignment
of these joining sounds—
it was you who gave me
the dream to lose myself in.
If I have grown close to this tongue,
if I have found such joy in speech,
it is only because you led me there.
It is you
I am loving through them.
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