Put a front to me,
And open your mouth
A little; let me see where
Your speech is coming from.
Roll your tongue around a vowel
And allow it to leave the
Surface in verbal elegance,
And make the distance significant.
Close your lips once your line
Has strung enough colourful
Bites along it, and then think of
Dirtier ones for your washing, and drip
Them in my ear as you move nearer.
Lose none on the breath of heaven scent
That leaves when speeding a thought
Along the process of conception.
Breathe double features
Over me and see my lenses
Steam in anticipation of remaining;
Rein in the excess and recycle any
Letters left inside you for my
Approval, either scowled or flat
Lined, or smiled if you’ve happened
To hit the right nerve with your words.
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