I don't know how to say this anymore;
It doesn't want to be a poem yet,
But when my words aren't poems, I forget
How to construct a sentence, and therefore,
The thoughts thus bottled up desire to pour
Themselves obliquely into poems set
Slightly askew. Of course, I have to let
Them out that way: I can no longer store
This many thoughts inside. And so I try
In this half-off-hand manner to recite
The unpoetic thoughts I cannot quite
Make poetry themselves. I don't know why,
But poetry seems useless to me here:
What can I say except I love you, dear?
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