Some New Language

How can we form the words that need to be spoken, when so many of the words we know are old and tired, stretching back far beyond memory to places only history knows? I want to speak of new things, the taste of your skin on my lips, how you move in those moments between sleep and waking.

You say too you want to speak of the way you fold yourself into my arms to feel the beat of my heart against the side of your head and how you feel my slow steady breath as I bury my nose deep into the summer smell of your hair.

There is so much to speak of and so much to tell, but these words seem too worn to speak of something this new. We feel we will just end up mouthing lover’s platitudes to each other like so many have before. They too must have felt in need of something new, some new lover’s language to speak of these things.

Words though need a weight of meaning behind them. New words just float on the winds of happenstance, not rooted in the real, not held down to meanings through familiar usage.

As I move my hand slowly, I know what your ‘yes’, means as much as I understand how your breathing changes and your body rises itself up to meet my moving hand. So maybe we do need the old words, maybe we can shape them into forms that we can tell each other of these new wonders we have found, here in this narrow old bed.