The Secret Language of Insects

The Secret Language of Insects

 

What a beautiful song

it is, the sound made

when two legs rub

against each other.

 

When this happens,

the night hears,

acknowledges

by disguising the sound

as a chirr in the dark.

 

It knows the language

should be hidden

in resonant discord.

It is not meant for anyone

but its creators.

 

And only when the night

blacks out the eyes

can the limbs take over

without effort

or expectation,

the contact made pure,

the melody sing clearly.

 

Only then does the friction

between the two

sing a refrain,

a message

from each to the other—

You are not alone.

I am here and will be

always.