They dance on my fingertips;
A discordant symphony of held-back words.
I bite my tongue, metaphorically -
these words lack the power of speech.

Every second thought is of you
as if I'm a leaf in a whirlpool.
Circling, circling, 'til I come back
around to you.

The distance that separates us
is greater than mere language barrier:
Eyes I cannot see speak only of distrust.