more literary, than paint or sculpture.
He looked at words with eyes of love
he was no artist he was sure,
words were his tool
a handy man he had become
a fixer-upper, of love's every wrong notion
words were his solution.
They were the silencers of his own commotion.
He saw in words what men saw in women
beauty, passion, strength and grace
and he used his words to make love
love-making of this form
broke every rule and conventional norm.
Love-making with words and sincerity
an art not all could master.
He was but a word-smith with poetic liberty
for her, he created an entire vocabulary,
a liberty that belongs only to a writer.
She knows not, about all the thought
that goes into saying the right thing.
She'll never see him take notes in his mind
while he listens to the lyrics she sings.
He watches, and listens and watches some more,
an artist studying his inspiration
planning carefully how his words should go.
Just the way he holds her,
he chooses his words to lift her off her feet.
Just the way he kisses her,
he chooses words to make her knees grow weak
Just the way he loves her
He chooses words unconditionally.
Words are his source of Love
Words are his medium
Words are a mirror to his soul
As long as she inspires the words,
his love for her can never grow old.