To realize all along we were speaking the same language
Only I didn’t know because you kept using words like clavicle
To describe a lilting line when what you really meant was
Arabesque…
And I was in the drawing studio and you were somewhere
Talking in low tones…
And we were just two bored kids with nothing to do
And no dictionary.
Pass me that pick and we’ll excavate this thesaurus.
Dress it up for a museum like we’re the artists of the ages.
We don’t have the right but nobody does
To say spring and mean fling
And disease and mean divorce.
Languishing in language,
My summer yard: Mother leans out
“Don’t bounce on the hammock!”
Clever and charming, we’re still waiting
For adorable to set in.
At least we didn’t peak early.