kittredge, you’re a fool–
love does not go without saying.
say it as often as you think it,
as it surges through your fingers and toes and overcomes you
on your bowed knees, your face against the cool earth
supplicating smooth soil– begging it to take all this feeling
because you cannot hold it in, on your own,
and it will break you.
say it when the sun rises and sets,
say it when your finger is describing the curve of a collarbone
a blemish on the skin of your darling(s);
tell it to the blades of grass you crush beneath your boot
on your way to work in the morning.
tell it to the postman and the bewildered children jumping rope in the street despite the honking of horns
and the smashed bug on your windshield
tell it to your boss as s/he screams, redfaced, about deadlines.
tell it to your paperwork and the bills and the sky and the homeless men under the overpass
go home, and then
crawl into bed beside her
clasp a waist, caress a cheek, rest your chin in the well-suited curve
of a hip or shoulder
and whisper it: into their hair, their palm, their mouth in a kiss.
love does not go without saying;
without saying, love goes.