Untwist the Words
I know one thing about you. It’s enough.
You have a heart to just accept this word.
Sometimes it’s soft; the better parts are rough.
It’s less the voice, and more the way it’s heard.
“Shall I compare thee” to an April night?
The cruelest month, a rose shot through with fire?
Untwist the words, and bend them back aright:
In temperance, obscure, recall desire.
I don’t know if you wanna take this trip,
or drop a second blotter micro-dose.
The parts you can’t identify, you flip.
Did you hear, “Guten Tag,” or “Adios”?
I said it as it sounded in your ear:
“You’re beautiful,” but is my meaning clear?