to let my tongue remember  
french lessons with every syllable  

slow as a gaze, harvest each color under light
gentle as fingers tracing desire on your naked skin  

but, to speak your name would invite madness:  

for it would stir a lifetime of hunger  
in my eyes to always feed on you
my fingers afflicted by incessant shivers
with only your touch to soothe and calm  

hearing your name, my ears would ache
to hear my own in your voice each day  

*and you do. not know. my name.