Speaking in tongues

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The roof of my mouth has caved in
from speaking in tongues

My throat scraped by pitchfork words
crawling upwards to my lips from xylophone
vocal chords searching for your reply

Kingdoms turned to mud
waiting for the miracle of
your voice I once inhaled

        occupied the space between
        my temples
        the caverns behind my
        eyes

        exhaled through my body
        between skin and flesh

        filled the gaps in the
        marrow of my bones

        grew roots through my
        legs, slumbered behind
        the whites of my nails

The roof of my mouth has caved in,
from speaking in tongues through empty air
to your despondent flesh, dejecting ears

I wait the age of trees for
the shades of color between
your words, stumbled onto
themselves

        the echo of your staccato
        encore of plosive and sibilance

Cadent measure of carefully coloured air
squeezed by the grip of your lungs
injected into me,
by the miracle mechanism of speech

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