Wish I could relearn the language I quaked still papers with,
Dribbling the ink with the service of thought on my fingertips.

Language as the fins of euphoria flipped against the tidal sea:
It's the one I promised to bequeath, to not only
my younger sibling, but to the older version of me;
Regurgitating the sweet taste of ecstasy.

Language as the scales of lust waxed on my polyester skin
that brushed against now forbidden lips.
They seared long nights, and morphed hearts into stars.
... Though all stars drift afar.

Language as the rods of faith that pillared my soul,
It lit my eyes with child-like hope.
However we live with the cards we're dealt,
The tactile touch of our deck makes us not forget.

Wish I could relearn the language I quaked still papers with,
Dribbling the ink with the service of joy on my fingertips.
To translate the words that reverberated in my head,
and vicariously live those emotions I had unkept.