Timber

Word put upon word but no
mortar the post soon teeters
wobbles and falls one’s words
broken one by one not as good
as one’s word thou wert then
walked in root rotted locution
indicative of times as before
we recall when for fun porter
and skittles and deep hot
daybeds of tomato red roses
and nary a thorn in your side
were I to be in this our tree
wooded world where no words
come between our sweet hugs
thy passionate shepherd not
a single sheep to his name
please don’t hurry your reply
rest here now in these cues
though words are simply noises
and only silence speaks peace.