Fluent in Aphasia

Such appreciation for the universe surrounding me I have tonight, for I’d never known
the richness of neon red entertaining the containment of menthol green.

In my famished fatigue, expecting tastes of your experiences,
my eyes glazed over like my father’s when confronted with a European breakfast;
my encounters were met with a pad of butter
melting down the sides of a shortbread brick
my mother placed on a roadmap.
 

Time laminated beside us in layers of fat in croissant dough
that baked sous-vide under the breath of my voiced lateral liquids: Lo and Behold!
I stood in infancy as you pulled those gooey clouds between my fingers:
your convection baked hands unraveled a skein, through which we sent our prayers for the well-being
of the universe.

I thought you placed handcuffs across my chest as the warm creams climbed
in knots to my nose, though it was just my brain that had turned to custard
at the will of your alveolar twist.

We’d been swimming in the waves of several oceans, all of which we swam in at once.
I’d found a home in the city in which I drowned (both the moon and skyline made wonderful pools).

At the thought of it growing warmer, several widened windows would
exhale their breaths, roasted golden between buildings
and sweetened by vapor vines collecting in the carpet.
A saccharine fog laked herself through your halved windows
and offered her smoky vipers, along with oolong scales and pollinated feathers.

Not soon after, breathing replaced whispers as the windows’ lingua franca,
only I’d understood nothing they shared and have now begun to question whether I’m overly aware
of my universe.