Linguistics

Linguistics which I am awfully terribly dreadful at, Linguistics would be are be nothings filling my mouth when I can’t- can not- utter syllables statements sentences sayings. Too much. Go away leave me here, lonely. Who cares! Not me? Not them. Those ones over there. Them. Yes, them who are watching my soul shatter like the midday soaps. Listen closer, ladies and gents! Can you hear them? Every piece of my own beating body hit the concrete dry. Clink. Plates of glass Picture frames of had beens Mirrors of haves Vases of the flowers you could be bringing. Year after year after year after dusk when we talked about global politics, American history in my coffee cup. Oh, how cosmopolitan we thought we were. Three a.m., third time crawling into your twin bed to the sweet songs of Eric Clapton and Dylan. Sometimes, I fell out of bed. I hit my head. There was a bump. We laughed. Okay. I fit, though. There. Fit every turn your body took. Molded into every inch and welded my heart to your hand. Hold this for me, will you. My eyes said everything without the linguistics. It was easy in that benign way of ease When your heart, head, and hands are well contented. You. Blue light falls on your pale chest and I’m swimming in your essence and drowning in your eyes soaking in our breath mingling foreheads touching. You trace my waist, my ribs, my spine- I’m beautiful in blue light and Tom Waits. I’m beautiful in your arms without linguistics. I’m beautiful in silence, in green eyes in blue light.