Seized, I am in the ripe
feral grip of the new language
she is speaking. Her voice
fronting a glassy, ciphered edge, a grifting menace.
Every calculated utterance bears double and triple meaning,
with common intent to baffle,
disarm, intrigue, estrange; a misleading
skein of confession.
In a sense, her unwitting compulsion
to protect me is the root-cause of her
language, its architecture and vents.
If only she could
abide the silence
long enough to exact
the necessary vigil;
if only she didn’t consign
my pink to arson.