The Taste of Language

I am the words that pour from your lips.

I am “Vivacity,” “Capricious,” “Demure.”

I sing through your teeth, tasting of vowels; long “U’s” and sweet “I’s” that are reminiscent of molasses, or warm honey.

I taste of love and of childhood and of every bitter memory that lingers upon your tongue.

I remind you of your own humanity whenever you take the time to notice me.

I remain appealing to the eye through countless ages; unlike you, fleeting lover, I am eternally beautiful.

I form the bonds that tie you to your world, and I give you that sense of knowledge and sentience.

I am the beauty that sets you apart from the crawling worms and howling beasts of the earth, and from the singing, yet dumb, creatures of the air.

I, unlike you, will always know what to say and how; never a word on the tip of your tongue, only to be forgotten, dried up, and turned to gritty ash in your mouth


I am the music for the non-musical, the poetry for the unimaginitive; every facet of me has its own flavor, its own intent.

I am unending, and without beginning.

And I am yours to use, and to make your own.