The mouth, a violent thing

The mouth, Osho claims to be a violent thing,      
Keeping busy- the moving, talking, chewing      
And yes, I do know what you are saying      
Yet I wanted to ask if you heard the humming      
Much farther down beneath all words,      
A motor awake, and unmoving      
An example of something      
Not quite quiet but benevolent      
Much like waves cascading,      
Or water falling upon soft forest floor,      
Remaining still beyond the always doing      
Endless smashing, chewing...      
Distractingly sorting unsorted meanings      
Behind the make believe meanings.      
Yet still, and I mean very still,      
Is a place with out mention or words,      
Below the navel,      
In the quiet of yearnings, a humming made avail    
Swellin, a sacral bowl of luptuous dreams brewing      
Slurpy gravey, warm from the heart...      
Because one can hear      
Gentle humming between the heart beats      
The mouths true purpose,      
Removed of all traces of misuse,      
a happy coincedence,      
That at end of it is a kiss.