A soft golden meadow, tucked
inside of a shadowy forest.
Your voice is a circle of lilting
lilies.

Misunderstandings -
hungry bark beetles, infecting
the sap of our poetry together -
make the words "I love you"
thin wiry twigs, snapped and
pressed into the dirt.

Instead I will say:
"Our time shared is cherished;
moments nibbled slowly, melting
dark upon the tongue."