Relentless Syllables

The words are shouting at me, they want to be let out!

I want to know your face, like the top of the trees know to stretch and touch the wind and sky.

I want to know the rumble of your voice as subtle vibrations in my bones

And I want to know the stimulus of your fingertips like the silt knows the current of a stream.

I have no idea who I'm writing to. I don't know if that really matters that much, though.