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?​