Every word drips from my lips
Into a sieve and squeezes through
To a jumbled mess at the bottom
Of a life sized bowl of alphabet soup.
From my vantage over the quagmire
I feel like the 50 Foot Woman
With arms as long as bridges and
Legs and thighs that go on for days.
My bikini is vast and my cleavage
Is the Grand Canyon.
But still the words dribble out of my lips
And float like clouds instead
Of falling with the weight of pearls.
The crowds filling the landscape
Around my feet have no fear
Of my words crushing them
And yet they stare up
At the expanse of my sex