The tongue is from a branch of the same tree as mouth, so this’ll be overall short. You, my tongue, hold yourself very well. Almost too well. I sometimes wish you’d snap back exactly what you think of that customer or defend someone who needs the defence. Getting in trouble would be worth the backlash. A sense of achievement would be the reward. Nevertheless you’re locked tight and if someone tells you a secret you keep it. I suppose that’s loyalty. It’s also boring. By the third hour of work you enter stupid o’clock and the words merge together and stumble on the one foot they have. It makes you feel worthless when this happens but you’re just as gifted as any other, tongue. From the approval of partners your actions are louder than my words, so you’re appreciated. It’s just that my body is longing to move forward and gain a sense of confidence and pride, but you have sat in my mouth, a stubborn tenant refusing to yield. Drunken you are looser, so why not allow that into sobriety? I’ll give you sour sweets? Either way you, tongue, can hold a secret well, and I thank you for that. I trust you enough to leave you with my own.

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