The place where language is born

The soft tongue and the delicate mouth that speaks
So much. The gently whispered I will always love you
With the upcoming dawn and the sunlight is peeping
Through the fog. I could spend many hours or weeks
Saying nothing at all, but my hands that follow the slew
Of curves do the talking for me as my tears are seeping
Down my cheeks. They soak through my pillows late at
Night when no one else is awake. The place where our
Language is born and begins is also the place where it
Goes to die. The words that can either fight and combat
Loneliness or could start unstoppable fires that devour
Us all. It is a place and language where we can truly fit.