We talk.
And I feel
my stomach is turning into a bottle of soda.
And the bubbles are rushing up to my face.
And the words "darling"
and "dear"
are hesitating on the tip of my tongue,
children ready to jump
from the edge of a cliff
into a sunny sea beneath their feet.
And my teeth clench
like the protective mother
the children supposedly need.
And my tongue burns from
times which have passed
when the children have drowned in a silent sea,
unanswered.
And my tongue curls inwards and throws them back in the mess of bubbles.
And lets them sink down
back into my soda bottle stomach.
And we talk.
And I'm silent.