why must we always speak
to each other in poetry
behind tinted windows
and closed doors
whispering metaphors
against our skin
like a simile for our secrets
afraid perhaps
that without individual interpretation
there would be no denying
the piles of words
that get left out of simple stanzas
that flirt around literal litany
those words
we keep held in our mouth so full
they fall out of the corners with every sigh