Coherence

Oh, that I could master such an elusive beast. That words might pour from my mouth in a smooth stream rather than tumbling over and down the waterfall only to hit the rocks of the white rapids below. Would that my thoughts were orderly and precise and formed themselves into ideas of such quality that I might be humbled by their presence on my tongue. If only, if only, the speech of my mind were the speech on my lips, and each one was bourne swiftly and efficiently of the other.
Alas, it is not to be: coherence and nimble tongue turn twisted and inane as they travel the path from brain to brain.