I feel them on my tongue,
On the very tip,
In its shape.
Wanting to be said,
Waiting to be told,
Soon to be sold
And bought by listeners.

I feel them on my lips,
In the way they're pursed
And twisted.
Yearning to be heard,
Ready to be known
And to grow
As rumors often do.

I feel them in my mouth,
On my very breath;
Unused air
Hoping to be sound,
Waiting for believers,
Avid receivers,
To catch them.

I feel them in my chest,
In my lungs,
Bursting forth.
Floating inside my breath,
Awaiting the hair-trigger,
Such rigor,
Ready to fire.

I feel them in my gut,
At my very core,
The middle.
Aching to be voiced,
Screaming to be heard
As a word
In existence.

I feel them in my soul,
Inside my being;
My beating heart
Punching at my ribs,
Pounding to be sound,
To be found,
And they will
The moment I arch my tongue.