Her: It's been over a month. *sigh* Does it bother you that I'm still not ready?
Him: You feel quite ready to me.
Her: [ She shakes her head slightly. ] You know that is not what I mean.
Him: hmm.... No. [ He wraps his arms a little more tightly around her. ] No, it doesn't bother me. Don't...don't get me wrong, I thoroughly look forward to hearing the words cross those perfect lips of yours, but...I don't need to hear the words to know their truth. I can feel them in every glance, every smile, in your biting wit, in the perfect silences that rest between us, in every - single - simple - touch...
[ He shifts his grip, causing her to turn around in his arms and face him. ]
Him: I can taste the words
on the tip of your tongue
Her: That was very poetic of you.
Him: ^shrug^ What can I say, you're rubbing off on me.
[ He lifts his hand to cup the side of her face, gently brushes her cheek with his thumb, and leans in for a taste of the three little words that reside in her heart, but torment her mind. ]
On (or about) conversation: I haven't quite found a comfort level with adding dialogue to my poetry. I have done so on occasions, but I still can't get a feel for it. It's kind of funny to me, as I was thinking about this write that my thoughts paralleled a previous dialogue post. I think dialogue appeals to me because I lack the ability (the grace) to say what lies beneath the surface (partly because I shy away from conversation in general - the ill effects of social anxiety). Of course I wage a lot of what I write exists due to my inability to connect in the world beyond the ones I like to fabricate.