When I gave myself to him, br It was the perfect rhyme of couplets. br He: the smack of consonants against teeth and lips; br And I was all the vowels in long sighs and high-pitched pleasure. br The words we formed now buzz in the silence, br Almost audible in this empty apartment, humming me to sleep. br A lost tongue never to be spoken again - br No matter how many tongues of how many lovers br Touch so lightly this skin again br And drive from this vacant throat a groan. br It isn't the same. Lost is that sudden breathlessness br Of not knowing what to expect. br And a different sound is added: br A rising inflection like a question, br 'Is this the one? Is this the magic again? ' br And another sound muffled, br A holding back, waiting for disappointment, br Fighting against letting myself be taken, br Remembering the pain of losing that private language.