TE19 Iberian Adventure

Second Tongue

LOGOPEDIA Let the tea draw till it recalls who we love. Some nook in a corner of your mouth must hold the essence of bergamot.

We’re forever being done in tripping over our tongues

(that ‘s’ of his that feeds my need to sop him up). And you’re so palatal, so on the edge… a likeness buried under your wisdom teeth. The god of phonology would never have grown had the meaning not sprayed its sperm over the howls. My vocal cords are become straps for this endless wreckage. The ‘g’ will ring the little bell of my glottis like a runaway train we hoped would stop. And your name cleaved to my palate, like communion. It’s not easy to say earl grey Bonjour monsieur , I would like an earl grey.

But what I’m after

now that just can’t be said.

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