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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

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16 thoughts on “Secret

  1. “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” – the hole piece is beyond powerfull and the words beyond striking!

  2. a torniquet existence….there is a lot of grit and pain in this….on the black canvas of a failed sexual…secret smeared between the thighs…oy, well layered…

  3. wow..doesn’t say enough but it is all I can think of…that and whomever this was is about has an empty soul…for all to many people (both male and female) relationships are strictly about the physical part only.

  4. A famous poet once said, that every line should be a poem in itself. You have accomplished this difficult feat with this poem. Every line is a feast. Bravo!!

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