Inadequate

All I want is to
write something
that will make you cry.

I want to know the words
that prickle at your nose
and everything that stirs and mixes
at that thick place behind your heart.

Passion, that passion
that shakes my muscles
and truly, truly frightens me
gathered in a basket
and wrapped in pretty paper

so I can scare you to tears
when you rip it open.

My wandering hands can't
find it all. Too weak and tired
to bring you anything you can
feel.

Every word that glides across my skin
could never evoke
that reaction, that climax
of the unexplained
that I so badly need from you.