Word’s Worth

by Mark

Word's Worth

Word’s Worth

 
 
 

Costwold
It is my turn.
I am helpless.
Attempting to communicate some grain of intelligence,
murdering otherwise comprehensible words,
Slagging every au, and aw, and o.
lengthening each vowel to unnecessary
length­ into a subway ride of colloquialisms,
with my lazy mouth.
My terribly oppidan, languid jaw.
The same mouth
begging to touch yours,
with jaw unhinged, to envelop your face with mine.
To kiss your perfect, waspy, beau monde lips,
and feel your tongue enter my own lagging portal
of childish nonsense, and
stop all words.
Only feel the approval
of your mouth meeting mine.
Like a drink from a crystal glass,
after a day of staring through a window
on the hottest July day.
But your Greek eyes divert,
joined by a nod ­ “good,”
a smile and perhaps a half thought,
and my turn is over.

By her

 

 

Ramble

Why is love and beauty not enough!
Must I mutilate the words into 
quantifiable metaphors, manufacture
you into object with value.
You are not a number: 
sharp, clean, pointed;
you are Human!
Flaws make you special 
slipping into ankle deep puddles, pouting
hands to sides, palms face inwards as your mouth
slides down stage left .
Their I see your beauty 
not the Mona Lisa stoic, and
staring never changing always a 7,
you are 7, 10, 11, infinite! 
Once that frown goes upstage in
laughter and merriment 
lexicon escapes, education wasted 
just a finger lick touch onto me. 
Why fight for feeblish comparison 
not the soulless diamond 
perched on a mantle for gawkers
gauging your worth
wagering whether to own.
You can’t be owned!
You are a soul made of superlative
substances of the cosmos. 
Created in beauty
Cherished 
in
Love.

By Him.
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