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You want to be my secret.
You want to be my hushed space
cornered in acoustic walls.
My muse. My inner workings of a piece
that will always be unfinished,
A stroke always to wet for the brush.
You want to be my secret.
You want to be my whisper in inner ear canals
breath hot and heavy
My Adonis. My outer completion of an art
that will always be mastered,
A signature listed small on the bottom of epic greatness.
You want to be my secret.
You want to be my rumor spread far
and wide,
telling stories of untold regions and a cartographers map.
You dare to be the north
and south of me
the east and west
of we
the compass shaken entirely
by rhythmic needles dancing to go this way
in the direction
of nowhere.
You want to be my secret space,
my secret place
my unreserved dust in a room
reserved to be shined and placed on
a shelf, never to be found
by others.
You want to be my treasure.
My buried dirt
shoveled under years of cobwebs and
translucent slime,
dug deeply
until it is found.
And you found me,
A simple secret
That walked the earth
A revealed shroud of nothingness
That is everything
To you
under concealed thread count sheets
and squeaky mattresses. Me, simply me,
Found under undisclosed tears and shadowed paths
intersection of fate
Public in view.
You wish to be my secret,
and I dare to be
Identified by you.

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