The curves of Spanish get me every time
like white chiffon lured off of a woman’s body by the wind
eloping, making cartweels in the air leaving blue
and orange chemtrails in its wake.
The edges of German do it to me too.
Its sheer history sits in my esophagus
asking me to remember. Stifled patriotism
is the flavor of the millenium.
Urdu lounges quietly sipping sherbet
reciting the poetry of the ancestors
wondering about the downfall
of the Mughal empire.