by Rania Moallem   Sep 30, 2020

Cursed with a stroke of agony;
so many words silently drip
behind my jawline.

Few sounds, syllables and vowels,
slip to the tip of my tongue
...every now and then.

Holding tight to my vocal cords,
your name stings as I breathe you out.

But my lips are well stitched,
I am sore
and the air,
oh it was so sour last night.


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