of tongues

 Sometimes, I wish for a tongue that pokes out cutely while I pose for a picture.
One that pushes out sugar sweet nothings for an inane conversation.
A tongue that's sophisticated enough to not roll vowels.
A tongue that knows how to brush against yours.

Instead of a tongue that doles out paper cuts with words.
A tongue without a leash.
A tongue that hurts and offends, even if it has learnt to say sorry.

But then, when I stick it out, my tongue, my misbehaving, work in progress tongue, it makes you laugh.
And when it slides along my lip, it makes you stare.
And the teeth indentions on it, when I try to hold back, make you hug me tight enough to leak.
And I'm thankful for it all over again.