Body Language

You stole my words.
Usurped them up through a straw,
blew them over my head
into the slight crevices of my elbows,
down deep into my eardrums
where they resonate sweetly.

I've never had someone conduct such an in depth conversation with my shoulder blade.
Not sure what you told her, but she's now alive,
sitting higher underneath the strap of my camisole,
taking the right of way when she bumps into strangers.
A Queen she is.

I wish you'd have a conversation with her sister.
For the sake of my alignment, of course.