i like to read it aloud

[thedorkygirl]

If there were words for locks like tigress dress,
I would not use them -- it would be the death
of her copper hair. Turned hoary
in a moment’s grace, strands grayed by precision,
those exact words steal her glory

If there were words for the shape of his eyes,
almonds would mean less than her love implies.
(Their sole impracticality
cast aside for a more scrupulous vision),
their cut becomes formality.

If a phrase could be simplified into
a half a dozen letters or less, blue
would have no place in sadness.
Spring robins would not sing when they offered sounds
of joy or lust or wakefulness.

A brazen, brassy rooster is a cock.
Able, accomplished men on Plymouth Rock
said “Plymouth's Rock landed not upon us,”
(and with that cocky saying, one knows none drown,
being dashed for sake of progress).

With one small step and a dream, words changed
a decade’s legacy. Postscripts estranged
from their boor predecessors,
if there were words, they would have been said before
by better men or lesser.

So without these eloquent Faulkner ways,
without the stars of noontime lending rays,
no man would say “so long lives this.”
For who has time to recall in written lore
the description of one chaste kiss?