Spoken over grilled onions,
Lingua Franca
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Falling over backwards
some truth yet said, mirage lips
covet a single syllable.
Strides with four legged
majesty to break the spell, shatter
stone with a prying kiss.
Treasured lips form pirate
smile crescent reflecting ocean
stubborn windward tales.
Sense of what is carried
branches by day swans by night
shouted whisper emanates.
Speak mountains of river
coherent flow unbeknownst guest
as Old Faithful chamber.
Impressions dance on our
humming minds, rhythms match
between pressing records.
Letters of Measure 