I don’t want to talk about the feelings I have for you.
Small words and strange comparisons
in short conversations
can never convey the truth.
And besides, I have trouble saying what I really mean.
My tongue becomes clumsy
and I trip over important phrases.
It’s much too risky to let myself be vulnerable,
to lay there
naked and prone,
without any defense between me and the outside.
Ah, I have built up a tough hide.
And now you ask me
with your eyes
how I feel
and you expect me to lay aside the
I have acquired through years of hard work
and let you in!
How can I betray
all the hidden things I’ve stowed away
over my life,
things I’ve protected through peril and strife,
and let you reach your
warm, darling hand
inside of me to see
from what things did I start
and to cradle my fragile heart
in your gentle, calloused hand
and feel its beat and its weight?
I can not say I love you,
my dear one.
But I can try,
slowly and scared,
down to my soul
and let you see
the truth for yourself.