Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Without Words


You are more than a five leafed clover. 

In this tiny hand, I hold your parts.
Even those parts that you hide, but I see so deeply in your eyes.
Without words, you are a geode shining.
You fit me consummately.
I am raw and unsensored in my need for you.

You are the snowflakes I catch on my tongue.
The cold, November, runny nosed kisses after dark.

I would write a thousand words for you.
And then I would write a thousand more.

I would fall, like an infant learning to step without holding a railing.
For you.
My rock.

My geode shining. 

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