He Likes My Words Poem by Patti Masterman

He likes my words, likes the way
They tumble out artlessly,
In the parlance of children,
In their limbo of suspended meaning
From the timeless solitude they abide in,
Till I pluck them loose, to my own ends.

I like his words, like the unprogrammed way
They seem to arrive, in fits and starts; a sentence here,
A paragraph or two there; they fit well into the niches
My words leave behind, and it's no small feat
To find gaps in my speech
And my run-along sentences.

Our words nestle together, puzzle-like,
Interlocking attitudes, and meandering paths
Where we sometimes meet cheek to cheek,
Though it often seems we've each
Gone a different route, or taken the long way
To arrive at a simultaneous moment:
But for us, it's always about the journey.