In love with words

Could it be?
That I didn’t care as much
about your body and mine,
passing heat
like copper conductors
so finely tuned,
as I did about your
"this"
"and"
"that"?
The words you strung together,
like a delicate, durable
fishing line
luring me in
to your web
once again and again.

When your body failed me, and
even your obtuse mind confused me
when we spoke,
out loud.
And when your judgement calls
disappointed me,
like I was suddenly your mother (tisk, tisk).
Then only do I go back
and read what you wrote
and realize
I’m in love
with your words,
again.

You are not even there,
but what your mind decided to decipher
this way or that
at that time in space one week ago,
or two,
now
spoke to me
in a way
I might not forget,
in one week
or two...

The words are out there,
un claimed
un chained
no judgement
no explanations
no reason.

Out there
in the air.

I feel them when I breathe,
pressing against my chest;

my heart aches.

And now it’s been years,
lifetimes, even
since I’ve been in love
with your words
again and again and again.