Photo by Jaredd Craig on Unsplash
Dear Language,
.
You lap and you list, cuddle then feint,
Bubbling brevity, excruciating plaint.
Bobbing and weaving-
in nimble dance,
Liquidized knowledge,
Seeping in chance.
A ship with no anchor,
Adrift amongst stars,
Splashing and crashing,
Lyrical abattoirs.
A sultry sensation,
A broken alliteration,
Silence in spaces,
Beget longing in phrases.
An ability to rend,
The creativity to shape,
On the tongue of the common,
Language to sate.
.
.
You are wanted.
R.
About the Creator
Rachael MacDonald
Avid Reader, Sometimes Poet, Occasional Writer, and searcher of truths often lost in the breaths between candy-coated lies.
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