Lost Tongue

I try to say the words,

a coffee order twisted tongue,

tongue that used to run free,

now clumsy and stuck.

Barista’s eyes blink slow—

puzzled, polite,

while my lips fumble

through half-remembered ghosts.

Crumpled receipt in my hand,

a map I can’t quite read,

a script unraveling,

slipping soft as mist.

The language folds itself away,

and I chase the shape

of what I almost said,

tripping on silence.