I have not the words.
They have locked themselves
deep within my throat
in fear of bubbling forth
in a heap of unrefined mass.
I have not the gestures.
My jelly legs have locked
and if I move now,
I will surely tumble and
take a nasty spill.
My wasted lungs have not
the breath
to take in and echo the
sentiment.
For now,
I am taken back,
fumbling for the words
I have misplaced
(but I am thinking them
all the same).