the way you say my name.

you say you are no musician
you say you don't know how to sing
how to
string together a bunch of notes into a tune
but there is just something so
achingly beautiful, so strange, so new
about the way my name
rings in your throat every time-
a mere excuse of a syllable,
that you
turn it into something so
supple, so full, so rich.
I'm in love with the way
your mouth makes love to my name
the way you gulp, the way you strain
at it's vowels
I'm in love with the cheeky widening of your lips
and the ever so slight tilting of your face,
I'm in love with how you
turn the my name into a tribute
I'm in love with how it sounds
in every cry and every praise,
in every desperate moan and wail,
and in every whisper and every sigh
that we've spilt onto our beds on curious nights.
my name
knows pride
when it is forged from your voice
and although you say you are no musician
only so much can be true
for my name evolves into a melody
every time it comes from you.