if I could but reckon well
the weighty constructs of your thoughts
in terms that would not
crush me beneath my pettiest fears
then yes, I would gladly
reach out to embrace the warmest core
of most beautiful you

but on this unkempt stage
where partners spar with barbed tongues,
I am nothing but futilely
driven to distain the very meager me
that wrenches here and there,
perpetually beset by sharply shaped
moments of doubt

you see, what is left unsaid
is more of matter than all the pretty musings
that this tongue might convey
when carefully couched rhythms fail
to reconcile the harsh necessity
of being heard with the utmost and humiliating
truth of being laughable