you always had a way with words,
always knew when to quiver your voice or heighten your pitch to get me to fold in half
crooked seams
what horrid things you'd never say but didn't have to
cause that,
that was all in your face
your eyes
the way you'd never say my name
only ever in dark fields
or dim rooms,
always the next town over
and I always heard that secrets can't be kept
but you kept me in your pocket,
folded up to occupy the least amount of space
you so generously gave to me.