May 1978
The Lost Language
When I gave myself to him,
It was the perfect rhyme of couplets.
He: the smack of consonants against teeth and lips;
And I was all the vowels in long sighs and high-pitched pleasure.
The words we formed now buzz in the silence,
Almost audible in this empty apartment, humming me to sleep.
A lost tongue never to be spoken again -
No matter how many tongues of how many lovers
Touch so lightly this skin again
And drive from this vacant throat a groan.
It isn't the same. Lost is that sudden breathlessness
Of not knowing what to expect.
And a different sound is added:
A rising inflection like a question,
'Is this the one? Is this the magic again? '
And another sound muffled,
A holding back, waiting for disappointment,
Fighting against letting myself be taken,
Remembering the pain of losing that private language.
you certainly have the gift of poetic language but hope you find that private language again...
A heartfelt and deep thoughtful write, my friend, I like it very much, well penned and poignant! Keep it up! Love and Peace...
You manage to capture in poetic eloquency the loss of that magical ectasy that kills the beauty of a relationship... linguistic genius! :)