Poem by 𝗡𝗶𝘇𝗮𝗿 𝗤𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗶

I want to write other words for you,
to invent another language only for you,
in harmony with the measure of your body
and of my love.
I want to escape the dictionaries of language,
and leave lips behind.
My mouth has grown weary,
now I long for another mouth,
one that sometimes becomes
a cherry tree, and sometimes a matchbox.
A mouth from which words emerge
like nymphs from the sea,
or like the white chicks of a hen
from the magician’s hat.