I move the words like liquid on my tongue

I move the words like liquid on my tongue
into differing shapes, a muscle curls
my lips to make a sound. The graceful curl
of letters on a page seduces tongues

to many heresies. I speak in tongues
beyond a rhetoric, my body curls
about the world in postures. The damp curl
of her hair on her back is like a tongue

that tastes the air. The movement of the sand
in dunes is like a verse, I smell the soap
she used to wash herself with. The imprint

of its scent on my nostrils is like sand
displaced by feet; the brittle, crumbling soap
is now the form where I will leave my imprint.