Mistaken

I felt I had the upperhand this time. With you it was different. I had what most other men wish they had. I, had all the words, all the words to describe how I felt about you. I didn't realize until now, but that's the problem. I only had the words to describe. Without you, there were no words, but without my words there you were, glowing. I had no words to give birth, to breathe life into you. How dare I wish to press my lips against yours with nothing behind them but organ and muscle; hot air and cold shoulders, warm intentions and cool reassurances. This you would have me believe.



You are mistaken. I bring light with which to see how a man can love a woman. I bring a tablespread of thoughts from which to dine and give sustenance, and I kneel devoutly before them and you, baring my back for you to sit and feast slowly. I bring a fireplace filled with kindling, for you to cast fears, worries, doubts, insecurities and ailments, that they may crackle up the chimney as background music as we slowdance in the warmth of their demise. In short, and in lieu of more words gone to waste, I bring to you a home, a cozy mansion for you and I. And this is just the beginning, why would you wish for this to end?