Teasing from behind
that veil of mystery
Playing with pseudonyms
And toying with my affections.
What’s in a name anyway?
It’s not the person.
I can live with a charade,
My life is a progression of charades,
A series of train cars
One deception following the next
Stopping traffic
A victim of endless inertia.
I play her game, dive into her fiction
She’s a mistress, an object of desire
Hiding from love beneath her bowler hat.
She’s a muse, stirring emotions
Inciting creation.
Constructing a flimsy edifice
To keep the world at bay
A fruitless attempt at solace
And privacy and peace
For her passion is a magnet
Anonymity is ******* by her attraction.
One cannot put a label on truth.