If they were only words
without strings
they would fly
untethered balloons skyward

If it did not lead to consequences
miles and miles of dominoes
they would be set free, easily

But these vowels are not music
they are simply keys
that open more doors than they close
and so no such words will I utter
and no peace will you know

I feel them brushing
flitfluttering
against my face,
leaving gentle marks of powder
like the color on my cheeks,

my skin remembering their touch
again and
again and
then comes another: warm, soft;

it joins the others and
suddenly
I wish I could catch them,

hold them,
pin them to cardboard
like butterflies.

Slow down!,
I want to enjoy
these words your mouth makes,
these words like warmth
like wind the silken touch of weathered wings

so when you tell me
I was right to be bitter
I will not hurt so loudly.