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Tip of my tongue
I’m thinking of the words
I should say in dreams
when I live in parallels without universes.
Words that I should sing in songs
or write in letters.
Words that could resonate like echoes of the world
when I think of it as a cave.
Words that would grow like my hair or fingernails
so they would scratch my skin.
Words I would spill from my eyes
when I’d look at women’s legs
(which I can’t help).
Triangular, fragrant, luminous words.
Loving, hateful, fearful words.
Laughs made out of letters, cracking of tongues, pen’s footsteps.
Words without owner or price,
that you can’t buy in shops.
Words that ask, accuse and harass,
that guess and predict.
Words that leave you speechless.
I carry my nights on the tip of my tongue
and I’m still thinking of the words…
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