The slow drum of pressure moves up through the chest
demanding release or reprieve;
a force that moves the tongue if unchecked,
in kinetic dispersion, to heat.
Any great feeling of love or despair,
will fight to be let out as breath;
The thermodynamics of chatshows say share,
for illusory feelings of rest.
But water boils quicker if sealed when heated
sulphur burns hotter when dense.
The result’s more fantastic when properly treated
and the light given off more intense.
Let mouths remain still then, force them to silence,
leave fragments the tongue leaves untold;
let them boil in the pressure, tumult and violence:
The heart’s pressure chamber transmutes them to gold.