Words Yet Written  

The poem unwritten
lives in your lips
as they touch upon mine
whispering my name
on winds
on seas
where we are.
 
And so  
I return
what you give--
the gaze
the caress
the every thought of you
that takes over
each day.
 
I cannot speak,
I have lost my voice
myself
the world
In your fingertips
that play me
like your guitar.
 
Words can wait
while I give in
to everything you want
creating
breathing  
something new
unknown
that demands
to become  
the poem unwritten.