I love and treasure you.
It's the words that are to blame for any
Misinterpretation.
They have no honour it seems, or modesty
and charge out, reckless
prepped to stab, jab and spit,
blast searing barb
or crack out contemptuous cluster of vile, unmeant things.
My tongue moulds evil bugger words
and launches them,
grenade like at your gentleness,
pathetic assaults of puerile nastiness detonate
and rupture your lovely face.

How to stop my mouth?

I could gaffer it up
as if I had kidnapped myself,
or stuff it full of paper and socks?
I could wear a tin bucket on my head and the
rude words could echo their insults at me instead?
On a more Jacobean strain
I could shred my gums
tear my teeth
rip out my tongue
but that would be too bloody,
too much Mess Mess Mess

Its me I'm really despairing at
tearing at
sneering at with awful scorn,
self loathing mixed with a word can create a bomb.
I'm sorry for the terrorism of a dart-pronged maw
rat-at-at lips,
I'm sorry for words and harm.
I'm sorry for My War.