Speakeasy

Confessions brush the inside of my lips
like the wings of a butterfly.
Softly they settle on my tongue,
shaking and trembling under their weight.
How can the world be held there,
in the crook of my throat–unformed?
I once looked at love from the outside eye,
but from within I am bound by the ocean of connection
that enhances quality of life.
My dried lips yearn to converse with you,
to speak in the silence things we could never speak aloud,
our mouths moving as one.
It is only in the solitude of you and I
that the greatest truth can be conferred–
the butterflies soar from my mouth,
whispering. I love you.

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Speakeasy

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