sjsprWriting

If a man is only as good as his word,

then I want to marry a man with a vocabulary like yours.

The way you say "dicey" and "delectable" and "octogenerian"

in the same sentence-- that really turns me on.

The way you describe the oranges in your backyard with

"anarchistic" and "intimate" in the same breath.

I want to follow the legato and staccato of your tongue,

wrap it around your diction

until listening became more like dreaming

and dreaming became more like

kissing you.

I want to jump off the cliff of your mind,

into the suicide of your stream of consciousness.

I want to visit the place in your heart where the wrong words die.

I want to map it out with a dictionary and points

made of bright light 

until it started looking more like a star chart

than a method for communication.

I want to memorize the scripts of your seductions,

I want to live in the long-winded epics of your disappointments,

in the haikus of your epiphanies.

I want to know all the names you've given your desires,

and I want to find my name among them,

because there is nothing more wreckingly sexy than the right word.

I want to thank whoever told you there was no such thing

as a synonym,

I want to throw a party for the heartbreak

that made you a poet.

And if it's true that a man is only as good as his word,

then, please, let me be there the first time

you become speechless,

and all your explosive wisdom

becomes a burning ball of sun in your gut

and all you can bring yourself

to utter is "oh god, oh god."