I am the kind who would.
Or I am the kind who thinks he would.
Who knows?

But I am not in a position to find
just the thing I need.

I believe every word I have
invented.  Auto-abnegation,
perhaps, most of all.

We say what we need to say
to say what we mean to say.

Everyone attended the soiree
in the chic silk panties
they acquired for just such an occasion.

You shout:  Am I whispering?
You whisper:  Shall I shout?

The way you hold it against me
that I would rather say what I want to say
than say what you want to hear.

What does it mean that everyone who has tried
to know me has failed?

All I know is,
I would have substituted more love
for every disappointment.

Our nested citations.
Our viable desires.