Back in our bedroom,
a language is born,
two voices weaving threads
only we can perceive,
a tapestry of merriment,
whispers, and half-formed memes.
Words dance like fireflies,
flickering in and out,
a secret symphony,
rhythms beating in sync,
their own lexicon,
a realm skirting the rules.
Eyes meet, and the sentences unfold,
unspoken phrases leap between them,
a nod, a grin, a raised eyebrow
and suddenly, the room is alive,
hundreds of meanings shared,
yet artfully concealed.
In this sibling speak,
the mundane becomes magic,
the ordinary transformed—
a simple glance,
a signal with hands,
the echo of an inside joke.
We speak in riddles,
in giggles, in sighs,
painting stories with our breath,
the softest language,
the strongest bond,
each syllable a heartbeat,
each silence an accent.
In the by-play of our connection,
we find the essence of being,
two souls in perfect harmony,
carving our path,
a natural duet,
a world where only we belong.
© 2025, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved. (1960)