Where do you reckon words live?
When I catch your eye, grin, inhale, let words float from my self to yours
From places where I let them emerge cautiously from my bubble
To the holes you’ve opened in yours
I hope that I found the right ones, that I conjured into existence the sound waves that will
Tickle your imagination
Raise up a smile or rolled eyes or something human
But is there a place where words hang
Near others like or unlike?
Where English verbs brag at their bi-tenseness
And French words rejoice in their phonetic regularity?
Do words fuse themselves in possible combinations and hope that some
Shakespeare-esque person will someday call them forth?
Can I go there and bum around, waiting for the words that will change the world?
If words spoke, would they use a language?
I walk through all the words and