I talk too much. And sometimes it annoys.
I talk quite indiscreetly to a crowd
of things said soft, in bed, not quite aloud.
It was the same when I went out with boys
I wanted to acknowledge, hold my hand
in public. I rush love that should be slow
and easy. Where there's nuance, want to know
in crisp clear terms. The need to understand
what's growing changing is this poet's flaw.
To take each single moment that's occurred
between us, try to find the perfect word
for kiss or touch, the one that makes it more,
eternal. Lovers, poets, share lust's greed.
We shriek humiliatingly sheer need.