They call them Silvertongues
With a sickly, feeble lion throats

She speaks a language
known best by politicians and advertisements
A language that only dear friends detect
when she speaks with her Silvertongue

When she speaks her Silvertongue
her taste buds into evergreens coated with snowflakes,
all indistict and conformed

Each word rings up telephone cables
into coils, coiling each words like a ritual

The Silvertongues
They walk in sevens,
with each heel, ball, toe
blanketing the gravitational pull
that decides how much effort it takes to hold them down
decided in pounds

And they live this hollow way
Like a practiced performance on a stage

We've all known a Silvertongue, maybe two,
We talk with them about workout routines,
push the same elevator buttons as them,
and sit next to them in the cinemas
but they speak so fluently

Their invisibility makes them invincible soldiers
on the crusade to perfection

A silvertongue's storytelling mind determines
of what the lion's throat swallows
and what it does not

For the jurisdiction enforced by the scale in my laundry room,
given icon into the mirrors,
are more cruel than pirating a child from their mother
or hearing the words "Would you like fries with that?"

For swallows are like those with iron wings,
that lay heavy in the stomach's cradle,
no longer a bird, but a burden
a miscarriage, a binge

Silvertongues walk in sevens, run in miles, and breathe in fours
First thing in the break of dawn,
reading the brail of beige carpet floors,
with her glass toes, pacing forward
until reaching the reflection

As if the shirt were the applied bandage
She removes it, to see if the wound healed overnight
The food she didn't eat last night
somehow pillowing her hipbones

The miles she ran kept running
without taking her thighs with her

Silvertongues wish to recreate
jigsaw effigies of themselves comprised of
nothing authentically grown
Or rather, shrunk

Still, a silvertongue's words are not that of defeat
Her words are not payments to the treaty
paid towards society,
The Social Contract between women
and their unspoken vow to be the most beautiful they can be
towards the liars in their heads,
they dust over their realities
Silvertongues speak of lies,
but when they speak
it's a battle cry.