What Makes An Ode
Words, words, on the tip of your tongue/
where you have ended and where I've begun/
Endlessly in need to be heard, to be rung/
To be gobbled up and worshiped, seized or be sung/
Make you believe in the unbelievable/
Make you conceive the pure inconceivable/
Please let me taunt you, to look past your fire/
Let me embrace you when things do look dire/
But physicality is unbecoming/
So look beyond my body, my heart that is strumming/
Peer down my larynx and see my cogs turning/
Cut open my ears to see your lips burning/
Underneath my sounds, you'll hear my true error/
The lapping of love, anxiety, terror/
Out skips the trembles of what I am meaning/
I search in your eyes for the light you are gleaning/
The mellifluous nonsense that seems to be teeming/
Of you and your words of which I am dreaming/