Of romance, perhaps, or B-horror movie malevolence. You decide on the “heavy goodness.” I salvaged this poem from a tattered book I found for a dollar at my local bookstore entitled Postwar Polish Poetry, edited by a Nobel Prize winner.
Inadvertently I passed the border of her teeth and swallowed
her agile tongue. It lives inside me now, like a Japanese fish. It
brushes against my heart and my diaphragm as if against the walls
of an aquarium. It stirs silt from the bottom.
She whom I deprived of a voice stares at me with big eyes
and waits for a word.
Yet I do not know which tongue to use when speaking to
her – the stolen one or the one which melts in my mouth from an
excess of heavy goodness.
– Zbigniew Herbert, “The Tongue”