Spellbinders

The stones taste bitter in my soured mouth,

if only they had come out, emerged as words.

But they did not, I couldn't let them.

For you are the great magician,

turning ifs to whens, and maybes to always.

So better to cut my tongue on flinty shapes

than ever they had come out, submerged your words

- and they did not, I wouldn't let them.

For I am a great magician,

turning 'so's to whys, and hellos to farewells.