To be known
without getting into trouble-
A test of concealment,
wickedly daunting for the vigorous soul.
“You, you are beautiful
and you are dishonest”,
An earthy voice swallows defaming words.
She, the reason,
who curtains off her passions, cries thick tears.
Sheds a cloudy mess of sensation,
takes a hot bath in grief,
as the hours of her days are
placed on a pedastle (trial) by victims;
the ones she let in,
who thought this entry signed her to them (each one).
How on earth does possession overwhelm true admiration?
Where lies honesty, then?
Is she not such a queen
as to rule herself? She who opens,
she may close.
Part-way to her pleasure,
on the wing of some faceless force,
thinking it wouldn’t lust to own a mythical creature,
she hides herself away,
and has yet to return.
The passion unshared seeps
into words in a void of longing.