It doesn't take a lot to use words the way we do.

We fling them around, over each other's heads, and flail around with our arms in the air, and try to catch whatever we can.
We put them in our little baskets, and fish them out with eager fingers, when our tongues have gone dry.

No more.

I will feel the shape of every syllable in my mouth, gnawing on its hard edges and rolling my tongue over the marbly bits, before spitting it out.

I want to see you wait with bated breath, for what I have to offer.