I.

You have to taste the words
like salt or earth
And chew them up and let them grind between your teeth
Let them crumble, coagulate.

II.

Know them, then introduce yourself.
Court them and waltz them and spoon under moons
and breathe in their air;
their atmosphere.

III.

Comb your fingers through them
and braid them and pinch them;
Let them drip sticky down to your elbows,
Let them stain and run, away even.

IV.

Leave them when it’s too much.
And kick them, and scream
And scream
Until you’re hoarse and the tears stop,
Until you know they know,
Until you can both take a deep breath and sleep through the night.
Then tomorrow:
Spit them out.
Sit them down.
Whisper a secret,

and watch.