Sublingually,
there are no kisses,
only having been kissed.
Extralingually,
there are no icons,
only God’s cooling down in us.
Pseudolingually, words can be spelled
as quickly as
the unwoken luminance burnt down.
And I cannot die as before,
nonlingually more,
I’d better intralingually
spin a long yarn for my child-to-be.

Yet
when will my lips have been
translingually tired to be foredestined
to have carried incense
in the last moment
to the holy spirit’s mouth?