Twice upon times I fell in love with girls who spoke alien tongues. Now I want a third.

Number one in the dark at a language school party.  Some guy hitting on her. Persistent type. You know? On and on and she's all about 'NO' in whatever language, ken? 

I tapped him on the shoulder, pointed to the door.  Took off my shades so he got the picture.  "You okay?"

She said something in Portuguese.  I held up my hands in a universal gesture. "Drink"?

"Sim." she smiled and pointed to the beer sign.

We tried to talk all evening.  It's not hard to do.  Bodies talk. Eyes talk. She was a student at this school.  She liked Gershwin more than pop.  Her Daddy was rich and her mom good looking. We held hands, walking through Cambridge.  I stole a punt and we laughed and smiles and in darkness on Jesus Green, we kissed.  Her tongue was the sweetest thing I ever tasted.

Phone numbers swapped. What's the use of that? Pictures of course:  sunsets, the river, the place we kissed, her smile, my eyes, her tits, my tongue, her cunt, my cock. We met again on Jesus Green. We never spoke but fucked and afterwards held one another. Smoked a joint and promised one another with eyes.

Then there were more photographs: her in a wedding dress; the ring on her finger; 
my broken heart. 
Her broken promises.

Second was Mieko, It was New Year's Eve. She spoke Japanese.  I spoke English.  She was travelling around the world alone.  No, she spoke only Japanese but she had a phrasebook that translated Japanese into Russian, German, English, Spanish and Arabic.

We shared cigarettes on her balcony.  She was afraid of birds. She showed me in her phrasebook. I told her I was a chemist. She made a big-eyed face when she saw the phrase I'd pointed to.  We smiled. Held hands.  I vowed to give up smoking.  She grinned and gave me a cigarette at twenty past midnight.

We kissed. We shared smoke.  Her tongue was like an eel and her mouth a place of excitement. I dare to say we loved. She left.  There were no promises to break and she was moving around the world, next day to Ireland and on and on. 
I cried.

Third time lucky they say.  They need pharmacists in refugee camps.  I'm a volunteer. I'm looking for number three.