our relationship is biennial:
we speak, for a while.

my tongue is barren muscle -
and throughout saturday it toyed with your name.
since it has tightened in my mouth, lay itself flat
and made enough room to fit a small book.

my mouth is mine but we were born on different days of the week -
my mouth is younger.
my words are older.
still, i light up when i see the foxglove swallow the bumblebee,
i will stand in gardens and ask to borrow the sky.
even when there was a cover of smoke, fog and haze

as a consequence of growing up with my brothers under my wing
i have learnt to be close-mouthed,
it doesn't stop me from being with you.
your lips have never touched for more than a second but i admire what you have to say,
even for a short period of time.