Tuesday, 9 July 2013

Secret Love

This is the end, I can tell
Lips moving fishlike around soundless words
Drowning in the air
Gulping as realisation, keen as sharpened swords
Cuts swathes through any form of reason

This is the end, this bitter silence
Recriminations dragged up from a past wished dead
Excuses applied with trowels
Those whispered disparaging voices in my head
All hell bent fury, laying claims of unjustified treason

What other wonders, I suppose
Am I to expect with this detachment?
Performed clinically, a veritable surgeon with a scalpel
Pulling apart pieces of our secret love
That saw no daylight

Who else could claim to be a witness
Of that we held but briefly
When even what we held now crumbles apart
This our secret love
At home only in the darkest night?

It's not fair that this is the end, this last barbed parry
The half full mug of coffee, the hole in the wall
Cold nights alone, the red hot mutters
The sense of going nowhere, of being stalled
But in love, naught is fair; out of love, fair is war
And in secret, the hurt, unconfided, is salt in open wounds

So, with nary a pause
I'll close the casket
On this
Our secret love