For lack of words

For the incoherence of words
My utter is an oxymoron.

Words from diverse divides
rendzevous in an tacit address
Mum as a silent letter-

A cocktail of true and lies
Tastly till it cloys
Yet sour

For without I am but a crust
Coiffed to composure
Of a speech made to impress
Because I should be composed
And piquant

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