On Speaking and Listening

There is something crisp in the sound of my own voice
that lacks when others say my story.
Is it the same for you?
when mouths consume the essence of the words
and let but sound escape.
Hold on to the creative act.
It is the Word made spoken,
in violent power 'gainst the sky
thick air to sculpt and sway.
So does this make you now, my lover,
for you to listen and unravel,
from ear to mouth to throat to spine?
before I knew? - the silent time.
and do you know me, more, than me?
I weep,
because I did not listen.
I turned my body, cocked my head,
and looked forward when you read.