He Likes My Words
P Patti Masterman
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He likes my words, likes the way
They tumble out artlessly,
In the parlance of children,
In their limbo of suspended meaning
From the timeless solitude they abide in,
Till I pluck them loose, to my own ends.
I like his words, like the unprogrammed way
They seem to arrive, in fits and starts; a sentence here,
A paragraph or two there; they fit well into the niches
My words leave behind, and it's no small feat
To find gaps in my speech
And my run-along sentences.
Our words nestle together, puzzle-like,
Interlocking attitudes, and meandering paths
Where we sometimes meet cheek to cheek,
Though it often seems we've each
Gone a different route, or taken the long way
To arrive at a simultaneous moment:
But for us, it's always about the journey.
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