I watch his lips move as he speaks to me. They caress the words that come out of his mouth. They are the catalyst of sentences, they open up and free the thoughts running through his brain.
They press to mine and they are like magic. Soft clouds, they are, perfect puzzle pieces connecting with my own. Lips that kiss my forehead when he's concerned, or my cheek to tell me I am doing something cute.
His lips open and give birth to agony, laughter and fury. His tongue pushes out jokes and compliments and the words "I love you". How silly that those three words mean more coming from his mouth than anyone else's. That sharp tongue when we fight, that soft tongue when we make up. And all the words my mouth has said never amount to the actions it has taken.
How both our lips clamp shut when angry, when scared, when hiding. And how his fingers trace mine to let me know it is safe to speak my secrets. How just the parting of lips can change moods, can cause a smile or draw a tear. Those many tears that I try to dry before he can find them.
And all the words we say can not compete with what we don't. Silence, as they say, can be deafening. It can also be romance and intrigue. Acceptance. Understanding. Love.