Perhaps one day
you'll mention casually
just in passing
as though it were
no big thing,
that a poet fell
in love with you
once, years ago
before she was
a poet even
before she was
ready to be she,
that at the time
you'd not thought
it worth mentioning
lest it disturb
the equilibrium

Or perhaps it might
be thrown forth
with emphasis, triumphantly
when that equilibrium
has been disturbed
by other events
and accompanied by
the expressed wish
that you'd taken
that alternative route
when it was available

Perhaps you'll step forward
and claim your place
in these words
as muse, as inspiratrix
proudly proclaiming
that you were adored
to this extent
that the love
that could not be
expressed in touch
or taste, in immersion
of the senses
in physical intimacy
was expressed instead
in lasting verse

Or perhaps you may
keep this inside
locked away
telling no one
for all your days
hiding this secret
from the world
maybe in time
yet far away
to be discovered
stumbled upon
with incredulity
by some person
you leave behind

I shall never reveal
this truth directly
but there are clues
here and there
that if followed
may lead some
to suspect, but none
that would reveal
with any certainty
who you are
because this secret
is yours to keep
or reveal, not mine

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 17/10/13