I think that God and I must've quarreled in a past life.

What else could explain this baby tongue he's put behind my gums?
It fails me at social functions, at dinner parties,
clicking like an arthritic joint as I struggle to get the right
words out.

And on dates?
Please.

Last night, my tongue sprouted legs and jumped out of my mouth.
I watched it splash into her tomato soup and burn itself alive.
I heard the snap of each muscle,
the festive pop of every vessel.

The blonde girl just sat there, disgusted.