I regard my attraction to language as an affair, as a withstanding relation, a product of indecorous communication. This devotion has demanded a life of its own, accepting my whole as its proxy. Others won't understand this affinity. They aren't familiar with the curving lilt of a domestic tongue, Nor the taste of a verse fermented in the mouths of one's ancestors, Surely not the stuttering moans of a mother dialect, Yet the sharp sting of a jagged vernacular, or the mastery and art behind the articulation of a single utterance. This discourse developed over time, I required maturation and growing before my notions aligned. I felt eager upon observing the pervasive movements of great text Which delivered a high known greater than ***. It is true that I contemplated profoundly first, before committing my desire and will to the whole of verse. But now that my diction reflects the appeal of great literature and enamoring fiction I couldn't be more satisfied.