My Throat Closed Up Whilst On A Date.
We were told words would come
when you open your mouth.
Full-
not fragments
but −
speech we were told.
Sliding from your lips.
Oesophagus exhilarated,
to command,
to tell you,
stories of mine own.
The throat tenses
feeling it-
sphincter stiff
repressing −
just an apricots core
of saliva.
Frozen,
cold,
frigid,
Lining sealed lips.
I watch you watch me,
And It really needs
To tell, to tell −
Language shuts down.
Not even Silence,
but clogged chattering teeth,
refusing words passage.
Letters remain in trachea’s
waiting room.
and lungs lay
sleeping,
as he soon will be.
‘’Stay though but a minute more and my mouth not words will be all you need.’’
