VOX

Though not brought to attention

Until your speech, on the offhand, reaches interim

I am, all too often, immersed in the inflection

On sweet reflections exchanged across our every conversation

And suspense, it coils tightly in the airwaves winding between each word

Then expends brightly when mind and mouth are met, familiar

For all well-intentioned phrases

And pale prolix creations

Of poetic contagion

Grasping in a space tenuously illuminated

Toward graceful diction, of romantic palette

None shall ever fit or fall on my regard so fondly

As do your overtures, owning that you want me