What are secrets?
The silent cells that are more ‘me’
than that which your fanciful eye can see,
a mere hint of emergence in a heightened blush
a trace of tremor when I fear you might crush
my heart …
… sits on a fragile web of yearnings and regrets
when dreams linger in opaque nets
constrained by unseen walls and a lost porthole
to your love. You took; you abandoned; you stole
my heart.
Secrets are the silent cells that weep wetter than eyes
they burn hotter than fever on brows and lament with silent sighs.
An endless wilderness of memories sit in this gentle space
casting soft shadows of secrets like carefully crafted antique lace
Who formed you? When? And why?
No one can read my secrets because I hide them well
Because I loved you; yet you loved another, and another loved me
and you and I? Well we were just never meant to be
… anything beyond secrets