Oaf (poetry)

I know the ecstasy of words.
They inch through my mind,
itching to be pronounced,
waiting for some still-unrealized beauty
to blossom across their features.
I feel them aching in their sleep.

And then they tumble heavily from my mouth,
And smash against the ground.
Betrayed by my own oafish voice
They writhe, gasping as they stare up in shock.


But I can only apologize so many times.