It starts with your hands
Those phalanges that drive me crazy
Setting me off on a spiel
Leaving me in a trance.
Then you started to carve the tattoo onto my heart
You talk, not to my head, but to my blood.
Fever in my blood, you’re tap dancing on my veins
I’m feverish; you set me aflame
The molten heat coursing through my heart,
The rhythm burning through me
Red. Hot. Liquid. Drums.
You talk not to my ears; you speak to me in drums.
A language that defies words
In a tongue clearer still than words could dream to ever be.
You beat ancient rhythms into my core.
I get vibrations that I can recall from faraway places
Things buried deep inside me start pulsating in recognition
The things my body hears needs be translated in gyration
You speak to me in drums. A message written in Morse
Meanings decoded by every atom of my essence and soul.
Phalanges on drums, driving my crazy,
Leaving me wild, nostrils flaring.
Replete in surrender, faithfully spent.
© pHisayo 2009
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