My you yours

I do not wish to write a praise
to youth
words live only to serve unknown purposes that men share at will
half by that, half by what they mean.

there is a lack of I in me, for I feel so loved by you
and in that way I may lose myself,
to that place where I am no more

Heart-strong,
My voices call you that way
And it’s fair for them to do so
so unfair for I to write a praise
Yet what better use to such lines to give
but to let them be

You are heart-strong,
Heart-warm, heart-given

And if no such word exists
I’ll write it down in your palm,
I’ll whisper it into your breath
So a lung can explain it better
in a language that only your chest-cage knows
as it merges into meaning.

will you understand my necessity of words?
or of gesture...
I will be able to say “I love you…”
and instead of this praise
Outside insults will cease to touch you

we will be enough,
and therefore die.