Language

Language
Is most masturbatory.

The intimacy of words
And more words
Open my shirt
Like cracking a rib cage.

Fingertips
Count out syllables
On breasts scanning for satellites
Held up by an arching back,
Wanting to snap.

Had my own Phlox,
My own Art Bechstein,
My own service upon
His service upon
Sentence giving head
To more sentences.

Semen
On syllables
On pages
Being kissed,
Tonguing each word
In tight, tickled touches.

Language
Vibrates my vocal cords
Into his teeth.

Language
Buckles knees
Like folding chairs.

Language
Buzzes electrons.

Language
Jumps the windows
Up and down,
Stirs the moon
Like a bowl of milk.

Language
Lets it watch.