My tongue is the friction of my thoughts

Sliding against the lips that contain the words

Perched precariously still

It is silent betrayal of motion tangling devotion

To a higher form of worship, in pen

Ink slowly staining fingertips that tilt

With the whims of Calliope

And caress the senseless heart

With promises born of regrets

Unwilling to be forgiven or forgotten.

Haunt me with your token words

Traced in the fluid of broken sounds

Drenched in the precious scent

That lingers from your touch

And fills my mind with your taste.

Shake me from this deepened slumber

Show me why I live

Why I breathe

And why the words familiar

Are alien to my tongue

Whenever you’re around.