I love the way you say the word “vase.”
I love how it trips off of your tongue.
Your voice— warmer than chocolate.
Your Southern accent, the way you form your words, better than touch.
I could drown in a pool of words that you’ve spoken.
Sing to me softly, Beloved.

I have ordered my pen to steal your features, Beloved.
Particularly, the way you say the word vase—
I love that best of all the words that you’ve spoken.
So challenge me— twist my tongue!
Drench me in flames and help me to understand the word of your touch.
Melt me, turn me, teach me, Eyes of Melted Chocolate.

Tangle your hands in my hair, darker than the darkest chocolate.
Sing to me, speak to me, recite sonnet after sonnet, Beloved.
I shall drink your words, but the wine I won’t touch,
Let the alcohol stay in the bottle and roses stay in the vase.
I will host a duel— mine and your tongues!
Come, let us see who can win a battle of lips where no words are spoken!

No need to forgive me for all of the forward words I’ve spoken.
Did I mention you have eyes glossier than melted chocolate?
I shall say what you are, let the word float from my tongue:
Beloved.
Did I say it too loudly? “Loud enough to break the vase!”
Don’t pick up the pieces, you have better uses for your touch.

My cheek, the small of my back, the spot inside my wrist, all crave your touch.
I have wishes yet to be spoken…
Please, don’t touch the pieces of the broken vase.
Leave proof of the night of melted chocolate—
Proof that you are more than just beloved.
No need to answer— the words can stay silent on your tongue.

I fell in love when my name first left your tongue.
Your deep voice bathed my ears in a new kind of touch.
I could have named you mine then, Beloved.
Forever from now, I will cradle all of the words you’ve spoken.
I will taste the things you have said, and revel in their chocolate.
I love the way you say the word “vase.”

No pen, Beloved, could ever match the beauty of your tongue.
I cannot perfectly describe how you say “vase,” or capture your excellent touch.
I cannot write down all of the words you’ve spoken, but I can speak of your eyes—color of melted chocolate.

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Jordan Scott is an upcoming poet from the Deep South. She has had a passion for words her whole life, and is always chasing after the high a well-placed comma can give a writer.