This poem was written about ten years ago, when I was sixteen. It was written to a special someone. I loved when he would speak to me in Spanish and I still do.


Speak to Me
Your Spanish
transforms into a wave
smooths out every wrinkle
rounds every jagged edge

reverses every curl
your tongue
forms ripples
echoing on the skin
leaving no vacancy to forget

I'll use your tongue
as a shield as a weapon as a guide
I'll bury myself
I'll hide
I'll rest
inside your tongue

Your Spanish
is a door
to another world
a vibrant color that stains
a silent melody that
creeps like a phantom
through the intricate passageways
of the mind

To your tongue
I will beg
I will plead,
"take me captive-
make me your hostage"

To you
I will surrender
my limbs
as long as you swear to hang
me to your tongue

Your Spanish
is a field of soft green grass
an overabundance of oleandars
The melody of your words
is a gentle breeze
that breathes upon the neck
to remind me
that I am not alone