It’s something to do, a way to keep my hands busy
To avoid the conversation I don’t want to have
But tea does not take long to steep
The dark liquid swirls about blending with the clear

I hold my breath for a moment searching for words
The way her eyes search mine
Looking for a hint of my awkwardness
Searching for clues in my mannerisms
This is how well she knows me

I do better with pen and ink;
I can tame my words that way
Before they spill out of me on their own accord
And cannot be replaced.

Sometimes that happens, you know.

My words remain behind the wall with a crack
And some poor kid has his finger there trying to hold it back

The pen does not betray me the way my lips do

It doesn’t quiver and misquote
It doesn’t make my heart beat so quickly in my chest
That I cannot catch my breath

I can choose each word individually, carefully
Like a florist choosing flowers for a bouquet
Each petal has meaning
Each color is on purpose

But sometimes I have to speak without my pen
Sometimes I have to take a chance
Sometimes I have to lose some control
Sometimes it just works that way.

I brew the tea instead of holding my pen
I hand her a cup full of promise
Put a smile on my lips hold my breath and say
“Let’s talk.”