LEE ROBISON

All These Words

For George Miller
(with poetic liberties, of course)

A poet, one of the gentle ones, once
lamented how words do not express, ever,
the exact whiff and nip
of a kiss's caress–
how metaphors do not make
true sense of experience;

how words interfere;
how as saying shapes them, they warp;
how the beauty of expression
is not the same beauty as is;

how a poem makes a window between
that glosses, frames, filters—

how it may tell the way a true love
turns to leave the room,
may express exactly the titillation
of her fingers brushing yours
her sly smile, eyes askance;
and although a poem may imply
the chaotic awe that fills the room, you,
her desire and yours;

and although this alliteration titillates,
we are still without the breathless-breath,
nose-bump-on-nose, lip-to-lip, of kisses.

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