To the speaker,
I couldn’t help but
notice that little difference in your voice,
your ‘I’ swings low, into a lul,
almost saying, if not following a ‘U’
in its shape.
The ‘a’ appears almost over matured,
crafting a din like an ‘e’
but resounding like an ‘æ‘
forgotten in olden days and long past times.
As the ‘a’ strikes against the ‘m’
there is a hidden subject,
a small child between the letters,
something that smacks of an ‘l’,
but just barely.
In your voice I can hear
the ‘a’ reaching out to the ‘m’,
as if afraid to fall short- terrified.
and I can feel your tongue
reaching out to the roof of your mouth.
Like the tentative tongue of a virgin’s
reaching towards the labia
of a woman he doesn’t love.