I am just a tongue too fat for this language, you are just a pair of eyes too magnetic to ignoreMature

We hold each other at gunpoint,
whisper our love in languages 
that don’t quite fit in our throats.

Rough, unpolished;
we wedge these ill-fitting words
into the spaces between our teeth;
tell each other we’ll get used to it -
get used to the pressure, the 
ever-constant shifting, the taste
of blood and copper and salt.

Your name is a consonant I
can’t get my tongue to master.
Your body is a continent I
can’t get out of my rear-view.

The End

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