This is pillow talk

This is pillow talk:
bliss explodes in the darkness, filling it
with hot words. Yes, the words tumble out, yes;
unchecked, spewing beyond control,
intertwining themselves compulsively.
They leave empty what was filled with only
words, having stained the sheets of my notebook.
Not even iambic, not even rhymed,
they are words, poor company for the night.

No joining bodies; only spoken words,
sound and fury: do the syllables mean
when no one hears them? Seductions sound strange
without lover's ear. Were I god, I would
rip you whole from my forehead or my ribs:
in the beginning, and end, was the word.