The Tip Of My Tongue

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán from Pexels

It’s on the tip of my tongue.
The word’s shape nearly fills my mouth.

It’s teasing me, leaving me
hushed, silent, agape.

My tongue is unsure of the almost-an-echo
pushing and pulling my lips.

They’re trying to follow consonants and vowels,
places the articulation might dance with my teeth.

I am, with increasing frustration,
feeling for the ever evasive.

The sounds’ vibration, their flow, friction, and aspiration
are as familiar as

…

the, uh…
a… an, um….

What the hell is it
that I’m trying to say?