You ask me to measure distance, calculate possibilities
of union between us. Despite mathematical instruments,
I can't. Words are thick, sticky, like sap in branches
of my throat. You can force them like a bear would honey
from a comb, but they won't be sweet. Bits of bark
will sting mercilessly, leaving scars and you'll blame me.

This doesn't come naturally. If pushed from the nest
of my throat, you won't understand the syntax. My voice
will twist like a knotted oak and words become a gust
of shattered leaves. I can't bear responsibility. My limbs
will snap at the slightest betrayal of weight. Once cracked,
I cannot support what you say. Your desire will turn to hate
and you'll blame me.

You're capable of calculating the circular result. Your spontaneity
would shatter the security of my routine. You are air traveling
the speed of sound. I am Sumi and paper-bound. Your words are
aged Merlot poured from the Carafe of your mind before holding
out a cup I can neither fill nor return. I am wood and earth. You
are Iron and Lead. The elements would not gravitate and you'll
blame me.

Yet despite the negative balance sheet, I could love you by carving
the words into the trunk of the page instead, if you could only learn to
read.

~