language by Clarise E. Reichley
since i've been learning to contort my tongue into a foreign dialect language has
deepened its meaning. i have to relearn how to say
'i love you'.
and i am driving a stick shift convertible in the rain
i’ve driven wordless into a world
rich with description.
‘i love you’,
sounds so much less beautiful
when you're unsure of the pronunciation.
without words to express my unknowing
i trip on the gilded road leading to expression
and i must teach myself
the nuances of a smile placed on ‘love’,
the emphasis on ‘you’,
the stutter on ‘i’.
this freshness forces me into illiteracy
and i am prepared only with an
stuck in the guidebook of mutilations
so extremely different
from the comfort of
who ever heard of someone reading a manual on how to say,
‘i love you’
i love you
is a feeling
not an instruction
and this new version of affection
feels like an unpoetical, exchanged skin.