Dear,
You crave telling what you did
because you craved doing one thing
wrong. Keeping it locked and off the grid.
Your voice is silent, your face does sing,
it shows to those who know you
that you know who
is hurt.
I too
expose the meanings of a flirt.

I am surrounded by listeners,
but fearing the response,
surrounded by a massive crowd
minus the ones who are allowed
to hear whatever happened to you,
my dear.