Celina Adrian
31,586 poems read
"a paragraph"
I heard him say. Love is on ur tongue. Its just a [word]. Change that to verb. I like verbs. What is in a word? Nothing is more thrilling than the action of a word. The excitement of whispering, shouting, simply saying, I love you and I do. I like saying it. believing it. in it. and then. love is silent. it sits as a less talkative adjective but describing everything I could ever feel and never say to her. he was right, love says so much more and then. completely Quiet. Emotion escapes me right now and I say I love you. I try not to say it when I don’t mean it. wondering. can I escape it like a noun who changes names. Where love becomes a noun and then. She has no name. She stands still like a noun and I try to outrun her. she stands there and I still try to outrun her. outrun her. outrun her. around her. but there. a fixture. This thing just stands there and I run circles around her. she transitions. I remain fixed on her. this thing called love. she doesn’t budge. Even when I coax her to the center of a crowded room. She’s just there. she doesn’t have to move. Impenetrable in her stance and then. the music gets louder and her foot taps. I can’t describe her movements. No words come to mouth to mind to describe her rhythm. it just is. Who is this? she has no name. no noun. No identity. No person no place no thing. nothing has ever really been able to describe her before. Not like this. she doesn’t even have to move her hips not one bit and she captures me. there are no words, no verbs remain except for her foot that moves rhymically to the beat and that is enough to excite me. that is enough to make me ask her name. Again and again. and again. I ask her name. Love is her tongue, but she doesn’t say much. She doesn’t have to. she doesn’t answer me. she doesn’t really need to. a kiss.
I heard him say. Love is on ur tongue. Its just a [word]. Change that to verb. I like verbs. What is in a word? Nothing is more thrilling than the action of a word. The excitement of whispering, shouting, simply saying, I love you and I do. I like saying it. believing it. in it. and then. love is silent. it sits as a less talkative adjective but describing everything I could ever feel and never say to her. he was right, love says so much more and then. completely Quiet. Emotion escapes me right now and I say I love you. I try not to say it when I don’t mean it. wondering. can I escape it like a noun who changes names. Where love becomes a noun and then. She has no name. She stands still like a noun and I try to outrun her. she stands there and I still try to outrun her. outrun her. outrun her. around her. but there. a fixture. This thing just stands there and I run circles around her. she transitions. I remain fixed on her. this thing called love. she doesn’t budge. Even when I coax her to the center of a crowded room. She’s just there. she doesn’t have to move. Impenetrable in her stance and then. the music gets louder and her foot taps. I can’t describe her movements. No words come to mouth to mind to describe her rhythm. it just is. Who is this? she has no name. no noun. No identity. No person no place no thing. nothing has ever really been able to describe her before. Not like this. she doesn’t even have to move her hips not one bit and she captures me. there are no words, no verbs remain except for her foot that moves rhymically to the beat and that is enough to excite me. that is enough to make me ask her name. Again and again. and again. I ask her name. Love is her tongue, but she doesn’t say much. She doesn’t have to. she doesn’t answer me. she doesn’t really need to. a kiss.