your tongue is a rudder.
it steers the whole ship, sends your words past your lips, or keeps them safe behind your teeth.
but the wrong words will strand you, come off-course while you sleep, sweep your boat out to sea or dashed to bits on the reef.

the vessel groans; the ocean pressures its frame.
to the port i see the lighthouse through the sleet and the rain.
and i wish for one more day to give my love and repay debts, but the morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west.