The Verse

Words can miss me- gone and hard to find. Lost among bags you never packed. They come like waves, showing my chest cavity no mercy. They amerce me. Each letter and syllable needed to produce my public speech sounds like a eulogy before my lips form. Emphasizing knowledge built upon connections, yet my tongue stops short.

Selah.

I tingle as I breathe in every line. Images with fingerprints from a familiar stranger. With each beat, I pulsate. Though, my words did no justice, yours, mirrored what bodies do when speaking in tongues. You cast a spell so enchanting I mistook it for prayers and blessings. Interpreting my every word like pastors in pulpits, you knew the deepest interpretation of my scripture. I wrote it out, still my silence was biblical. The only language I knew was your fruit on my tongue. The lines that fall from your lips like mangoes and coconuts. Your fingertips on my back. The rise and fall as my eyes swell up with holy waters. My soul is entangled.

Selah.