Smack, smack, the sound of Your chewing. Unnerves others, Symphony to me.
In an attempt to, Grow up, I perched on a hill, Made of bones and soil,
Words slip, and trail off your tipsy tongue, and land into my willing ears, ears that begin to chew down on every syllable, snapping your words in half, discerning the little halves. all edible, all delectable, and even though my body can't digest it all at once, I'll ask if you can talk a little …
The unwanted tailor, Arch nemesis. to my inner childlike sailor.