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.