Screen shutting,
words unwritten.
You're my cursor,
softly blinking.
Open book, unfolding tale.
Dictionary definitions fail.
(They should just use our picture.)
Your lips steal my words,
my fingers seek your keys.
Unspoken fluency,
Silent loquacity.
The story of you and me.
There's no synonym
for this thing we're in.
About the Creator
Addison Alder
Writer of Wrongs. Discontent Creator. Editor of The Gristle.
100% organic fiction 👋🏻 hand-wrought in London, UK 🇬🇧
🌐 Linktr.ee, ✨ Medium ✨, BlueSky, Insta
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More stories from Addison Alder and writers in Poets and other communities.
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Comments (5)
Whether 50 words or much, much more, there simply is no way of expressing. In the words of Eliza Doolittle, "Show me!"
Great end couplet for this ride!
Loved this poem. You can feel the passion
Oooo, loquacity is a new word for me. Loved your poem!
Short yet deep! Amazing~ and I'm with you on this one: "(They should just use our picture.)" 😉 Thanks for sharing~