This is a Title, and the Poem is About Love

Certainly. How could I not recall
how
your words would caress me,
as your hands would speak to me

(your hands, murmuring soft discourse
down the line of my neck

your fingers, whispering love poems-
timorously and ardently)

in soft lies, wrapped with the silky touch of truth

(a young lovers first declaration, made
with the brush of your skin
along the white curve of my shoulder)

words saying one thing,
while you profess,

(Oh, I believe you did profess)

another.