Tongue-Tied by Ian Hilton

Island in the Middle of the Salt Flats by Sara Doelle

Tongue-Tied by Ian Hilton

Everybody tends to adopt a new sexual style
whenever they begin sleeping with someone new.
A series of happy accidents or gentle hand-leading
eventually forms a language that is spoken and understood
only by the two parties at play.

Putting pressure in certain places produces pleasures
that are only relevant to that person.
Let my fingers converse with the
leading edge of your hip bones.
We can understand how to pronounce
the curvature of the arch of your back.
Let's learn the lingual language of exploring this new tongue.
Let me become fluent in what it is to be your lover.
And should you leave me tongue-tied,
know that I'll slowly start to forget the intricacies,
like a foreign language rarely spoken.
My accent starts to resemble that of a tourist.
Memories of what you felt like start to leave me
like a fading vocabulary.
I find myself misspelling the
feeling of your skin against mine.
The taste of you hangs on my lips like a word
I just can't seem to remember.

Coming back to an old lover is like
speaking in a tongue you haven't used in years,
yet still understand.
First, every syllable I utter with caution,
making sure its meaning is understood.
But by the end of the night,
our bodies will have a conversation.
Confidence regained.

I will speak.