This secret I was whispered,
No sense to me it made.
Why me? I do not know.
My thoughts grew very afraid.

Because this, I could not share,
But I had to release the words.
Alone up in the mountains,
My tongue had no reserve.

An unpaid debt to my mind,
Caused me to forget this one key thought;
That the mountains had ears,
And a huge blabbering mouth.

So it slipped through the crevice,
Taking my words was the echo.
It carried this secret to the waves-
Of the deep and treacherous Congo.

Now the creatures of the rainforest,
Do at times thirst.
And they drink from the water,
From which this secret was dispersed.

Now we all have a taste,
To some bitter, others sweet.
Will these words digest?
Oh tell me, *how will they secrete?

Im trying to write from this combative heart,
Connecting  these words that are falling apart,
The frustration I feel sitting at this desk,
And these cuffs are solid; cardiac arrest.

Now the paper speaks, and yearns for ink,
But the pen is selfish, and it's hard to think;
For the ***** that loves is now isolated.
Serving time, to restore feelings dehydrated.

And sweat falls as I stare down the clock,
Patiently waiting for the warden to knock.  
For real love is free with intensity,  
And intercedes with the spirit's density.

So I release this pen on an ink-less paper,
Calm, just waiting on your intoxicating vapors.
Your perfume, your smile, I will never get enough of,
And when I have some body, I'll entitled it "Love"