When tongues connect,
there is no need for borders.
Sound becomes touch,
a brush of thought against thought,
not always smooth,
but always searching.

Words stretch,
not just to speak,
but to hold.
Mouths shape memory,
history flows between teeth,
wet with meaning
older than grammar.

Sometimes it trembles-
not from fear,
but from weight
of trying to be understood.

Silence,
in that space,
is not absence
but breath-
the inhale before
truth is given.

When tongues connect,
they do not seek to win.
They open,
they offer,
and if we're lucky,
they meet
without needing
to conquer.