These words tickle my lips, itching to be
Freed of my tongue’s grasp and thoughts of ardor;
My eyes only see the best of beauty,
But for what’s inside I must look harder.
My heart as the drummer, my ribs the drums,
My lungs are the cymbals; my breath in beats;
As my mind is racing, every vein hums,
My steps are mute but my rhythm repeats.
My body is fueled as a concert hall,
I’m sure you can hear me walk up to you.
If we could fall in love I’d show them all,
But I’m not quite sure I want to fall through.
My lips are glued shut, the words trapped inside,
For I fear if let loose, they’ll run and hide.

 
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