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.
