A Tongue that Knots Cherry Stems

A tongue that knots cherry stems
ties itself into a knot
at the first excuse.
It blocks the words I want to say,
wrong words roll off its tip.
It is a dagger
ripping out hearts,
lapping water and blood.
I hold my tongue,
but it lengthens beyond my grasp,
unfurling through
time and space,
slicing skin and bone.
If I could make a dollar
for every word
I shouldn’t have said,
I’d be a billionaire.

published in Issue 1 of Wilder Literature

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