annoying myself

i wonder if i'll ever be able to state things simply and concise.
like my love for you.
not spelled out in naughty trails leading through the house.
but just here.
naked and in your face.

does it really matter?

it's the kind of question i ask myself a million times a day.
at least.
when i'm staring at numbers and figures.
at pages, at mirrors.
when the slights sting and the well wells up.
then i start to wonder.
about schemes and pictures.
about grand canyons, the internet, countless movies i've never seen.
sand.