Words by Oak Morse
If I could only twirl with words.
I want to waltz with Angela Bassett’s tongue,
the elegance of her speech,
a silver rainfall,
sentences sprouting from a golden canal,
rebirthing the potency of English.
Whatever she’s made of, may it send for me.
I’ll go where it tells me to go, to an outer world
or a bloody shore if I must.
Who taught you the cadence of Utopia?
Do you know when you utter, I absorb,
become the red of desire and a hint of envy.
To spin cashmere words with fine diction.
When your lips part, a giant butterfly flutters into the atmosphere.
May your grace teach me the secret to speech,
to burst with epiphanies.
Let me be a silhouette of your every statement, Angela,
whatever it takes, let the grace teach me,
soothe my gibberish tongue to sleep.