Sandra Alland & Samuel Beckett

Watching You Move

we do this thing   we open our mouths   by

habit mostly   make shapes with our lips

in the air   tongues tapping and clucking   hands

swooping   throats gurgling teeth trilling gums

wet with desire   in hunger we gulp   spit out

speech   by habit mostly   often without thought  

with the assumption of language   we tap keys

with one finger or many   cresting that fence

between thought and communion   chasing

that carrot   not fearing always fearing rejection

misunderstanding   forgetting   nuance   by habit

mostly   such small pulses in tiny letters with

tiny lips   a whisper can cause my throat to

close my ears to ring   oh my darlings if only

language would not jump out of its dictionaries  

if only cunt did not explode so   if we could

read the bodies of words   if translators could

my darlings   if translators could