…like a stone lain stagnant
in the esophagus
this bitter pill
still un-swallowed
suspended some distance
above digestion
below expulsion
those guttural noises
selfishly held
sobs of vulnerability
this whisper crouched
just beyond the reach
of his humility
some practiced
though impractical
lack of emotive awareness
leads his leaps of faith
to lurch as cliffhangers
near waterfalls
where bliss abounds
to ease his stocism
a density of cool
condenses into a pool of dew
building beneath
the seat of his emotions
though seemingly
he was never unsettled
this fertile field of feelings
provided the writing fuel
confused by his pursuit
of the most perceptive
proverbial tools
abused by imperfections
his misconception that
when the matter is words
he must master his words
means sheer disaster
when others ask him
in moments of intimacy
to be content simply
with being heard
his effusive dialogue
now suddenly diminished
another conversation too often
left
entirely
unfinished.
