Tongues

Supposedly a sword, my tongue
but really not even a dagger
it is best dipping into you
leaking pleasure, spiraling, twisting

so many places intersect:
my benchmark for a taco house
their lengua, soft and rich
gravy on my tongue;

my inability to persevere
in learning another tongue,
the one she desires to hear
soft, romantic, boleros in the air;

my tongue gliding along skin,
intent on tasting arousal;
my tongue tied, abashed
unable to express expansion;

too many tongues, not enough;
words plastering my ears back
and finally, silence, savoring
the end of all speech and sound,
as your tongue meets mine
hearts electrically connected