Ode

How glorious

is this strange muscle in my mouth.

Child’s tease, lips’ balm, baton of speech

unless it’s tied.

What’s forgotten is on the tip.

Sides slip out the truth. The root

is how far a kiss can go.

One can lose it when guilty.

Be lashed by another’s.

Feel it twisting over rooky woods and wordless

hear it swinging in a bell, sliding through a groove

or placed firmly in a cheek. Beware it

should be held most often for most often

a forked one has no friend.