Feel it smooth, the weight upon my tongue
that wants to shift it this way or that.
Be silent. Let words trace
the shape of the stone,
the way veins thread marble,
light and dark.
Let love's honeyed whispers
smooth the surface
for the tongue to suck back,
swallow.
And let questions serrate the smooth edge,
a time-lapsed erosion, before
words of anger can carve the stone,
building heat in a gargoyle's
protruding eyes and tongue,
fire in the throat
that wants out.
I will hold a stone in my mouth.
Hold my peace.