words from the middle of a chapter
do not yet know what they mean
no tidy morals to impart
if words are honest,
it is always the middle of something
so why speak?
in a world with no words
there is no deceit
(can we silently lie to ourselves?)
words describe, they do not feel.
though they masquerade as verse,
words belong to the realm of logic
they are tourists
lost and dumbstruck
in passion’s unruly domain