It is on the tip of my tongue.
Somewhere between my head and my mouth it was misplaced.
It is, lost in the complex jumbled of thought process, muscle control, nerves, feelings and sudden panic fear.
What is the word?
Normal verbal dexterity is just a simple flexing of a mental muscle. Maybe not as effortlessly as some, but still a task of ease to find a word or six, to say one thing another way.
Not late or delayed but tardy
Not, no, but disinclined to acquiesce to the request
And all this distraction and the word is gone and all I can do is groan in articulately.
About Me
- Mercutio
- "and I fear you will find me a very grave man." "True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south."
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