From a Tongue Grown Weary
What is this relationship
between tongue and word;
to crawl and claw your way
into or out of the safety of a sleep.
Each day a ceiling calling,
each night a window of dark falling,
finding you, reminding you
of a kinder kindness.
What has a tongue to say upon escaping,
draped across a lower lip left shaking,
stalked by silent dreams.
Trembling lips shifting
into relationships with words;
loving, leaning in, pursuing
pursed and pushed,
having been grown and owned
by the only real body they could ever know.
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