This morning I wanted to write a poem to you.
By mid-morning I yearned to make it true.
By noon, I wanted to tell you so much,
My words began to trip over each other,
And I became uncertain which were best to speak,
And which were best to keep inside.
By mid-afternoon, my efforts had become
A rain forest of diverse feelings and sentiments,
With all too many impassible thickets.
This evening it’s even worse.
This evening it’s as bad as I have ever seen it.
I no longer want to write to you at all.
I only want you here,
Us joined real,
Honest and naked,
And we in my bed
For the night.