guesstures:

my lips agonize over the words they form:
the hellos, the sorrys, the fuck yous, the goodbyes.
they are all wrong, even in the right time.
i stutter and they fall, syllable by letter, to
fall in the cusps of your open palms.
i blink wildly and gesture –
hoping that my charades will be better
in helping you understand
just a little bit.