We wait for words like forests wait for treesAnd when we’ve waited long enough, we speakAs quietly as honey waits for beesA metaphoric jar will crack and leakOur sense of equilibrium is spilledIn sticky puddles on a shiny floorIn time the time we sense can yet be killedIf killing time is what your words are forBe quick if you must wait for words to passBe more than less, unless you’re anymoreBe anyone you want; be polished glassRegardless, you can shatter on my floorIf love becomes a word that you must hateYour words will grow as forested I wait.