I wanted to make love to you without touching your skin to mine.
An overflow of words spilling out from my mouth and coiling around you,
even Germans would envy the way they sound;
barbed wire unhinged from it’s post.

That’s the way language works.
The French don’t have any idea their language sounds like foreplay,
how their phrases are the moments before ******
suspended beyond reach by the speakers with hard consonants.

For just two hours I wanted to speak a different language entirely.
To have you understand what it means to be able to trace the outline of your body in a language you cannot fathom.
A dialect that does not leave our mouths sticky and at a loss for proper terms.