Your touch a language, tripping off my skin
In silent vowels of a tender speech.
And I learn slowly when you softly teach
My muted tongue those consonants, within—
By which your fingers spread your nuanced grin;
Approximate your touch, then, I beseech:
That you be kind and tender in your reach.
In hesitation speak I what I mean,
And none too fluent in this tongue I pause—
I wonder what you hear when, in my touch,
Our speech yet fingers newer words? Because
Though language aids in feeling such-and-such,
Our tongues entwined in touch may suffer loss,
Then set in fear we might yet talk too much.