365 for 2012: (58 – Random**) Confessions

This is their method of extracting 

our stories. First, the isolation.

 

 Where it is still and quiet, questions are

asked. The process is done 

and repeated: a tip of the chin, a click

of the tongue, a slick

look from the side, sweeps past

your eyes. Twice over, if

you fail to deliver

the truth. Then, here, still

us, quiet, the way words unspoken are loud.

We all know that by now.

 

What are you afraid of? If this is

the way our bodies emerge from underneath

blankets and dim lights. The will

of the flesh, our breath, our mouths;

our travels down south. The paradise

we know destroyed by fear?

 

The narrative of the consequence,

is yet to be made. Still, there will be 

you and me. Our stories known or not.

 

Take my hand under the table, they’ll ask

you again. This time, keep

the secret pressed between our palms.

Slip it beneath our skins, we will

                                                                                     never let them in. 

**Again, without much thought.

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