Anatomy of a Tongue

Anatomy of a Tongue

His tongue is forked
and soft, like
a down-feather bed.
He has tamed it
but can’t mind the gap.
He falls in. Strangers
fall in. The world
falls in. We all fall in,
ready for duty–
for a war we already won–
everyone knew
except for his tongue.

His two-path tongue
is long. It didn’t stop growing
when he did [inside] (stunted
by lies, lies, lies). Now,
it hugs the world. Holds it
in orbit. Ensures
that it safely circles the sun.
Lovely liar, loving tongue.

Like rings on a tree,
the tongue tells its age–
its medial sulcus splits
right where she left him
–heartfelt goodbye
, lazy summer morning–
the tongue has words
not tears. They roll
down the two tracks
as he cries: lies,
lies, lies.

Her love wrought truth. Her love did halt.
Now he encircles truth’s petals with a protective false.

Published by dreysleeps

I art and eat and draw and sleep and cry and rhyme. I consume too much pizza and—by all rights—should be dead, but I haven't gotten around to it. Procrastination saved my life.

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