Ode

How glorious is this strange muscle in my mouth. Child’s tease, lips’ balm, baton of speech unless it’s tied. What’s forgotten is on the tip. Sides slip out the truth. The root is how far a kiss can go. One can lose it when guilty. Be lashed by another’s. Feel it twisting over rooky woods and wordless hear it swinging in a bell, sliding through a groove or placed firmly in a cheek. Beware it should be held most often for most often a forked one has no friend.