what becomes of the things we say

they're never tasted the toxic comfort of a cigarette. they've never known her body. but those lips of yours, they've said those words before. i could tell by the way they escaped: bubbles, i guess, is the most accurate metaphor. bursting out in scores and drifting skywards into afterthoughts. i've never actually seen them pop (soap shrapnels on asphalt), but i'm certain they do. regardless, they don't stay. they never stay.

my lips, well, we're pretty well-versed, but when it comes to embellishing the curve of your back, they're in virgin territory. in fact, when it comes to being sincere about the places i find myself near and away from you, it's all still uncharted. so i wonder, what would happen if i put your words in my mouth and blew a kiss of them back into yours. would they pierce your skin? would they assimilate into the air, dissolving and bathing you in truth and oxygen? or would they hang like rocks around my neck, a trophy burden that i couldn't shake?

perhaps they'd crack every code in you brain, unravel every gene in your body
or perhaps they'd do nothing. maybe my mouth fires blanks... big empty rhetoric that makes a loud noise but has zero consequence, zero reward.

and what of my own words? what of the things i'd say? well, they'd be flattering, no doubt. but seeking too. craving a definition... some sort of perspective. and maybe a shot at permanence? you know, not forever, but an extended moment where it's us and we both know that's all it is.

and they would be curious to know if i was wearing the right underwear today. naming the rights songs. drinking the right juice. they would want to know if you could ever want to keep them, for a spell.

and the things you say would say yes. but what would you say if your words were new? if your words were you?

and what will happen to my words when they sound like
"stay."
"mix."
"breathe with me."
"have me."
"become something beyond yourself."

perhaps they will build like bricks that make you impossible.
perhaps they will build like bricks that bridge you to me.
or perhaps they will crackle on our tongues, forming into a sludge that burns and chokes.
just like the things we don't say.