I did not tell you of the dream
Where I wept
Sleeping
Awake from the arms as you
Or the sensation it had been
Around the corner dream
The corners of my elbows raw
From having turned away from
The dreaming of a dream
Weeping, wept of having not told.
I did not tell you of the fascination
The twisting turn
Of this side into something wondrous
Unscathed but scathing
That something else having me by the hook
And little left of pretensions
To be fascinated once again when I well
Thought I was no longer fascinating for.
I did not tell you that, nor this.
There are so many things I have yet to say or tell
But that would be telling and there’s so little time for secrets
But so much time for love.