About words

I will make sure I carefully pronounce every sentence of you. Deliberately exploring the language that you are. The last of the grey faced bastards. Left scratching at the window for the warmth and the soft glow. Waiting to crawl into your mouth, to find refuge under your tongue and warm myself in your damp, heavy breathing. To listen to you from the inside. To get a glimpse of the back of your words as they flee your lips like refugees into the wild. To let the booming of your voice add stillness to my tumultuous annunciations. Shivering in anticipation for the peak of your inhalations, that quiet moment before you breathe out. The almost imperceptible stillness that sounds like thunder on the moon.