this night does not hide my secrets.

it is far too full

with secrets of its own.

with illicit affairs

and the weight

of unsaid words.

the air is soaked

with the lingering warmth

of sweet bodies,

with the soft exhalations

of whispered words.

it is muted

by the passing cadence of a

broken highway

that hums

like the falling of sea

on sand –

an empty lullaby

lulling, lulling.

it sings

of warm bodies

and forbidden thoughts.

anxious silences

tucked away

on the twilight road to home.

the air is indifferent to my secrets.

too full with the imprints

of almost-breaths

exhaling almost-words

like an old mattress

with memories of sleepless nights.

like crumpled sheets

alit by golden slivers of dawn,

falling through the parted lips

of haste-drawn curtains.

the crickets

too loud

and the breeze too thick

for my secrets.

so

they seep back into me

and I into them.