Title?

Forgive me. I need a new alphabet, and I see you have been cut into a hundred pieces and thrown into the ocean. You are waiting for love to rise from your foam? I assure you, she won't. So why don't you let me gather up your pieces like raw manna and make words out of them. A finger between your teeth! {your mouth needed a stem!} A heart in your eye socket! Your tongue in the hollow of your throat! You will be spoken again, you will be on everyone's lips. Wouldn't you like that? You are illegible right now, no one can read you. But I plunge my hands into you, my new alphabet, and I will mangle you sweetly, until I have formed new words that everyone understands. People will read a breast rocked in the cradle of your arms, and they will weep. Wouldn't you like that? May I ask how this happened to you? Was it a man? Did he untune your spine, did he unstring your hair? . No, I tested the blade of the horizon against my tongue. I thought no none was watching, but split-tongued angels swam around me. They sang, and their voices were not lovely. They opened their mouths, and I expected whole chords to spill out, whole octaves to arch their backs like audible rainbows. But their voices were deep and broken, and sweetly mangled, like a braid of a girl who has been running, running... I tested the blade of the horizon against my tongue, and they touched their own split-tongues and remembered. They circled around me, their eyes haloed by sleepless lids, watching, watching... They can taste one part blood in one hundred parts sky.