There are no words,
Not useful ones at least,
just homilies
carved out of a failure
to find the right syllables
which lay concealed
like the Mona Lisa
hiding in a box of paints,
waiting for the right hand
to coax her out -
to free her smile.
But for now your smile
is hard to read,
so I reach for your hand,
to show you warmth
remains in this cold world,
and you let me.
You let me.
Not useful ones at least,
just homilies
carved out of a failure
to find the right syllables
which lay concealed
like the Mona Lisa
hiding in a box of paints,
waiting for the right hand
to coax her out -
to free her smile.
But for now your smile
is hard to read,
so I reach for your hand,
to show you warmth
remains in this cold world,
and you let me.
You let me.
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