Tell me, truly,
How do you twist a truth without saying it?
My tongue trips, trembles, tries;
turns tender, twisted, tied.

I rehearse your name like a nursery rhyme:
softly, slowly, secretly
“Peter Piper picked a pack of perfect promises,”
but I can't pick the perfect time to say, “I love you.”
So I stall, stammer, and sit in silence.

My mouth makes mazes out of meaning,
murmuring, mostly, might be, but never mean it.
I twist and turn through tender thoughts,
tiptoe through truths too tangled to tell.

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck
if he could craft a cottage for two?
A cozy cabin, a cat, and a chance—
only to choke on words at the sight of you.

And I could compose a thousand clauses,
each one circling back to you.
As I stutter and utter scrambled sentences,
I almost say it through.

- Kristine Aimee Millonte and Josias Je Rellora

(Layout by Phoemella Jane Balderama/FEU Advocate)