Smooth your consonants

 Letters don´t form a word I just sigh
Syllables never met my lips
But the sight of you tickles the eye
the sound and rhythm of it I ken not

I haven't pronounced it
Not knowing feels deep
Will it match her image
infecting sleep

A piece that identity
Her name I haven't uncovered
So unwilling to discover
How it would feel saying it

 To enunciate your vowels
smooth your consonants like milk
Like a closed letter, paper as silk
waiting on a bench as if denied

offended being looked at, you hide
offended at not being opened
It's probably written on the underside
summing you up boldly

your fingers once folded
your tongue passed by
your name is unknown to me
Omission, too true to be a lie