That scarf you wear do all the colors choke?
Or open thoughts so proud of what to wear?
I knew it happened with the words I spoke;
I'll pack my truths, the stories gladly shared.
My books remain upon their wooden shelves
which soon will drop with love all for the ground.
And love reminds my mind to start to melt
the key is lost in reasons scarcely found.
Confusion settles far as far behind;
an ounce of courage takes the charging point.
A click is heard by thoughts that join inside
and care much less about her starting poise.
In only faint, convincing whispered bits
I had to fold when it said, "kiss her lips."
