Breathless

Sometimes when words escape They leak back into the echosphere Like a lost soul with a task unfinished. Their absence haunts us, those words we thought And let slip through our fingers before articulation. They want to be spoken: need to be spoken into existence, But never were given the chance to mature Beyond the simple state of being an idea. When they eventually return from their metaphysical journeys It'll be too late to make a difference or prove their point. The timing will be wrong, the context unnatural. It makes me wonder if the world might have been better off If those pesky words would have stayed lost, And not come back to remind me That it's rude to stand with one's jaw dropped When a beautiful women is speaking to you.