finally a freedom
from living under others, carrying houses like a snail.
away from hiding, hearing, hurting:
it’s great to be alone.
un.lonely, not unloved.
not unloveable, not I.
but on a road and on a trail.
happy trails, i’m hearing me.
i throw the un from the window as i roll on,
and lo!
there are those parts others cannot hear,
whispering the secrets i’ve always known,
to my upturned, eager ear.
big news from a little girl
no cobwebs in corners here
only shadows
aspirating in the
candlelight.
our secret’s kept in
napkinrings
slipped under weighty
tables, through
eager fingertips.
nightly surge of unspoken things
cool glance warm
parlor
hidden touches on
those dark stairs
laughter from the
warmth below
like cold stars in the sky
we see all from up high
and burn hotly above
where no one can touch our love.
littlestorms 