An Eventual Confession

An Eventual Confession
(1/19/12)
Forgive me my candor.I am a candid sort prone to wildconfessionsThat make the wolves howl from theirdens,"My but she can go on!"I do not aim to annoy or delay you,But I must speak my mind before itflees in fearAnd the truth with it. Forgive these breaths I take before Itell youPrecisely why I've called.A confession cannot bloom in breathlesssoil Nor can the roots reach the truth,Buried in bone below apparent earth.

Forgive me my dawdling.I am nervous sort prone to a claytongue and muddled wordsAt which the clock taps itself andtocks,"Out with it, or out with you!"I do not aim to displease or hinderyour day,But I must admit my heart before itlocks itself behind a cageAnd my courage with it. Forgive this dripping anxiety beforeyou slip upon itAnd lie flat-backed to hear my truth.A first impression is dented earth in arainstormAnd washes away even before the sun candry it,Leaving us with a clean slate, kissedby dew.
Forgive me my love.I am an enamored sort prone to granddeclarationsAt which even lovers groan behindringed fingers,"A lovesick girl is just the thing tomake a man feel sick."I do not aim to own or change you,But I must admit my longing before youare stolen awayAnd my hope with you. Forgive my lips before you kiss them,So our sins may be heavenly.A transgression as great as loving youburns the soulIn the greatest way; in a hellish,happy wayThat at last leaves me silent for youreventual reply.