Spit whispers from clashing teeth

Like a small notion of rain, as if

My bad knee would start throbbing

If you spoke too close to me, allowing

Bristling specks of personal flavor to

Baptize our conversation, I am too close

To the god in front of me, and yet 

I convulse at the thought and shrink

Rapidly away from your liquid speech.

A feeling of freedom as I turn my back

To the sprinklers watering my will

To stand here and listen.