Languages of Love

She wakes me up with French
Kissing the insides of my mouth
Climbing my bones like the Eiffel stairs

Drinking my breath like espresso
In the afternoons, she’s Spanish
Chasing me around like a matador
Her fingers like El Greco’s paintbrush
While her body flamencos above me

When night falls, we speak in Latin
Inscribing our skin with ancient tongues
Making the scholars of the holy blush
When our love shouts its Gregorian chant.