Kept Under Breath

I know that words should sometimes hurt,

coming out like giving birth.

At times they should

be witnessed being swaddled

in a lover’s mind’s eye,

or puffed out like powdered sugar;

beaten out of a red tanin-dried tongue

or poured like brown syrup,

and loved over her head like

prayer oil in the sun.

But these you will have to pry

from between clenched teeth,

because they sting;

because they hurt beneath my heart—

not you, but me—

and I’ll keep them to myself.