I'm less than articulate,
each time you see me,
I stare at you silent and savour the irony,
hoping that five or six words is enough to convey that I care.
I could shout it in poetry later that night,
but can't say a thing while you're there.
and each time we speak it'll seem that it's forgone,
that I should just stand there and smile like a moron,
Still the most blissful of idiots wordless and gasping for air,
and I could write songs in a number of tongues,
but can't sing a word when you're there.
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