There's a secret that I keep,
I don't keep it well.
I already told everyone, I mutter when I sleep.
But there's simply too much to tell.

Everyone knows, even my shame,
She also knows and doesn't care,
Everyone hates, but hearing her name,
Makes me wish to bite and tear.

All have heard, and they so think,
They know how deep it goes to rot,
Mouths say words and eyes don't blink,
But understand, they don't.

It's not the secret that I'm obsessed,
It's not the secret, alone, as such,
It's not the secret that I'm depressed,
The secret is: how deep, how much.

A man and a woman can art
their most secret way through  
from a speck of dust to heaven.

Or they can walk the walks together
living the daily hourglass ever closer.
But only to fall apart in the end
without finding an edge for themselves!

It can do heaven descends in dust
or not even in the gold it's never found.

I'm holding it in
my pain
my sorrow
my distrust
my insanity
my fear
my anger
my uncertainty
my... ***

I have a problem, bottling things up

You know you love me,
You know I'm right,
You know it's true.
You know he did it,
You know she said it,
You know how I act,
But as I silently turn my glance
Away from you,
I know this because
Your eyes snitch your lies.

They kiss sometimes
Mostly when the moon is high
And the stars are blurry
Diluted by the fourth and fifth whiskey
Details of this velvet cloaked romance
Are kept sparse
Once daylight touches their skin
Watered down recollections
Remain under lock and key
Hidden in that dark box
Not even the brightest sunbeams *******

walking past fountains of roses,
she caressed them with her hands.
soft petals kissed her fingers and
thorns, piercing the pads of her fingertips.

wandering to the golden pond, lying
down.
letting her hands play in the fronds of the grass,
flicking up glistening emeralds of water that
glimmered
in the sun.
flickering moons,
fresh diamonds,
new life so quickly taken.

roses
spurted as if from fountains atop messy beds
of lilies and lilacs,
jumbled together in a rush of colour that
seemed to have more and more detail
the more you gazed at it.

the sun shone
over the garden like liquid honey
melting over the peeling paint
of the white trellis that held
twining ivy
and heavily scented jasmine in its grasp.

and there, glazing the morning garden,
lay an aureate, flaxen
glow.