if love was a poem [poetological love], 2022

our love is a poem

u ’n‘ i writing with magic ink
made of fresh lemon juice or milk
moving letters, syllables, words towards each other

fingertips caressing their relief

our love is a poem

uniting moments
of language failing us, of letting the ellipsis whisper
of rewording the spoken until saying just enough
to inspire and make us feel comfortable in it

playing seek and hide in metaphors, searching
for each other(s’ soul) in and between the lines
for poetic form, the rhymed or the free
for the most sound and soft sounding words
in your, mine, any language

vocals seeking refuge under a tarp

our love is a poem

creating temporary poetic stills like a cut-open melon piel de sapo,
tooth paste and two toothbrushes on a camping table
intimating our vocabulary, being blunt in ways only we see through
feeling no need to make our punctuation evident

haggling over single terms and their given significance
typesetting our treasury of values as heavy as lead
u n c h a n g e a b l e , u n n e g o t i a b l e
using spatia sparingly, yet emphatically

time anagramming passion

our love is still … a poem

moving into a house of words with the body of an aging ballad
clinkering/ bricking it with familiar, decorating it with not yet local letters
in chests the most precious – hurtful – clichéd remarks

the unexpected freeing us when being stuck in their meaning
accentuating, italicizing, bolding elements in time
stumbling over it belatedly, undoing, throwing out
a few stopgaps so that the lyrical unfolds
accepting the ever-changing
flow of rhythm and meaningfulness

is music resonating in tune with spoken words? ♪

our love became a poem

it might pause or end here, albeit me ’n‘ you will
remain u’n’i-ted in the embrace of two simple sentences
keeping hold of what is or was