When I gave myself to him, <br />It was the perfect rhyme of couplets. <br />He: the smack of consonants against teeth and lips; <br />And I was all the vowels in long sighs and high-pitched pleasure. <br />The words we formed now buzz in the silence, <br />Almost audible in this empty apartment, humming me to sleep. <br />A lost tongue never to be spoken again - <br />No matter how many tongues of how many lovers <br />Touch so lightly this skin again <br />And drive from this vacant throat a groan. <br />It isn't the same. Lost is that sudden breathlessness <br />Of not knowing what to expect. <br />And a different sound is added: <br />A rising inflection like a question, <br />'Is this the one? Is this the magic again? ' <br />And another sound muffled, <br />A holding back, waiting for disappointment, <br />Fighting against letting myself be taken, <br />Remembering the pain of losing that private language.<br /><br />Lillian Susan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lost-language/
