Before the Language of the Senses
Touch me
where I do not tremble.
Make of me a scent
without a name.
Let sound become
what breath once was
before it learned to speak.
Let the tongue
forget
its hunger.
Listen to me
with the skin of thought.
I seek no salvation,
only time
that vibrates
beneath the skin.
Copyright © Antonella Biunda | Year Posted 2025
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