I have a secret that pounds the floorboards

A melancholy hum in front of the cervical

Spine, a song as insidious as a voyeur’s

Impatient exhale. I have a secret inside my

DNA a spiraling, enterprising derangement

That summons nightmares from hopelessly

Mortal abstractions, like a chair’s spinster

Shadow. I have a secret molten behind eyes

The color of distressed seas. I have seen too

Much to believe in anything that your artistic

Mouth would pin to the black canvas of a failing

Sexual conquest. I have a secret pressed between

The bulging veins of a tourniqueted existence

My diary runs red and wild with your villainy

I have a vicious white secret smeared obscenely

Between my thighs, proof of your impotence,

Proof that your heart is a bone dry well and if

All that I needed was the vulgar space between

Your legs I would be indecently happy but then I

Too would be empty. I have a secret, you are not

Man enough to satisfy my soul’s enduring needs, not

Man enough to hold me naked in the aftermath of

Our misdeeds and say distinctly that you love me