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your tongue

Your tongue doesn't move a lot
But when I'm with you your tongue orchestrates a play:
Your dry lips part slightly, cautious at first,
Your tongue's moves are slight, cold and calculated.

Your tongue moves on,
Lightly brushing the skin of my cheek and down my neck
I play mute, but against
Your tongue, my body becomes transfixed.

Further down in the passage
Your tongue makes itself at home
Whilst I bite my lip and keep one door shut.

I move on to another room
I listen in and in between
My tongue meets yours through the intercom.