Hesitation

If I could open myself
enough to say it
I would.
Ease on the door,
ease open the latch,
and (cautiously gaging
the faces out here) say it
just so, settling into
a cushion or on the floor
even, perhaps stand still
instead or pace a bit.
I would if I could.
Haven’t you ever felt
this way, or are you
the type who can
spit needles or roses
as needed?

If I could
be that way right now
I would try — moisten
my lips against parching,
bite my tongue gently
to earn saliva for speech
just so; I’d then talk
briefly, apologies
up front then blurt it
out and there it would be,
wriggling in the air
wet and spongy and
so alarmingly present.
But I can’t.

I can only
admit to a longing
for you to say it and then
to let me vigorously
assent. So let me say
this much and be done:

I know you understand
and that should be enough
but it’s not, not now,
maybe never; it’s better now
that it remains unsaid;
it will be a relief if
it stays inside you and
as for me?
Plant roses all around
and let them
do the blush-red talking
for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T