Fed

Her language drips with intelligence
The slow drizzle of innuendos
and proclamations from which
she speaks is like witnessing
stalagmites and stalagtites  
finally touching as if 
each syllable was measured 
by a drip
so edifying
And it's not just what she says
but how her lips catch the light
of a  candle glow
and how the corners of her mouth
dance with her dimples, 
her essence is edible
quite incomprehensible
how one can starve 
by tasting it
I love every morsel,
every crumb that falls haphazardly,
to the floor, jealous of the way,
her tongue can be so judgemental,
inviting then inciting, enveloping
making me wish I had 
lettered in spiritual dynamics. 
I would have been a star
without ever touching a ball.
Her  hello, and me running a million miles
in my mind trying to think of some other word
that rhymes with this title
other than bed... 
I am fed

languagefree verse

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