This is how the poet loves

[Ex Tempore XXIII]

All I can offer you are my words,
for they are the truest part of me.
Only they can speak the truths inside of me,
even though the truths are sorrow and joy
and apathy—all fair to my words.
I would be mute without my words,
and if mute I could not say what I have said to you:
secrets whispered that night
when we stirred together, alone in the dark.

All I can offer you are my words,
for they lay me bare and naked before you.
By offering you my words I offer you everything:
my life, my virtues and triumphs, my faults and failures,
my dreams, imagination, my fears—everything;
everything my words could ever give.
And after all, these are my words:

"I love you."

I do not know how to convey to you the measureless impetus,
the surmounted fear and absolute surety behind that utterance.

But then, only my words can do so.

M.M. — October MMXII