I have a difficult time saying, Awkward.
And it's not easy to spell.
It isn't forward, or backward,
Just awkward.
Oh! That was awkward, the duped say.
He's awkward, but will grow into those feet, quipped the coach.

When I met you again,
Awkward hardly was enough to define the moment.
And, months later, it's still awkward being near you.
I need to touch your hand, purposefully,
To get over this awkwardness, because
I don't see it in your eyes,
Or hear it in your voice.

We don't have time for awkwardness;
A word so onomatopoeic,
It's awkward saying it.

Nature's memory

  The soil touches your feet.  Heaven below. As the sky and winds play with your hair. Heaven above. Voices of leaves rustle their poems. The memory of you is not so far away.  As nature has never forgotten you even one thousand dreams away.