remember me. from your hands to your feet

if my confessions of fondness could be more than just that. confessions, I would not have to present them like this.
Done
as though there is fault in me loving you
done
 to you...they should be nectar and when they are absorbed by your small sweet ears they should set you free 
silence rather for the telephone only works one way
vulnerable strings of muddled up metaphors push their way through airwaves, postage stamps, secret silence, bold confessions 
timing. 
it's probably that
different places,different experiences
likely reasons
 we slipped through this world too many years apart 
don't settle