If God does exist.

I'm glad he has a sense of humor.

To take some time out,

Of a hectic schedule of smiting and forgiving,

To move me to a chosen land,

Where I am a noisy mute.

As I stumble-mumble-fumble,

Like a drunk trying to get into his snoring wife's bed,

Over my tongue, both adopted and otherwise.

My non-existent Spanish "rrr's",

Turning Perro (dog) into Pero (but),

So that on those rare occasions we argue,

About the dog.

"It was the fault of the but" I stammer.

You kiss me into silence.

Plugging the culture-gap between us,

By sticking your tongue into my mouth.