Silence

I do not often speak in company
Of how I feel about you, even now;
For though I write this, pseudonymously
But publicly, I do not quite allow
My tongue the free range over how I feel
That I would give my fingers. After all,
It's tedious to hear how you can steal
All my bad moods away if you but call,
To hear rehearsed again, and yet again,
How much each smile means, to have to hear
About your lingering kisses, and to, when
You've heard all this, and learned it all by ear,
Listen to the echo one more time.
And that's why I confine myself to rhyme.