Hyperbole

Hyperbole

I think of you a million times a day.
Your eyes, how they dripped with the words.
I would swim the ocean for you, came later.
If my love were the sand of all shores
every grain -- it's too painful to recall this.
Kissing you means I shall never kiss another.

Ahhh. Have I interrupted your day, lately?
Turning around in the bathtub would be a chore,
and any hourglass fifty-nine minutes too full.
No, all that we shared together was interesting
even true, perhaps. But not possible.
And where, where are your lips, this night?

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009