That such tender lips would want mine tonight
Is a treasure to me
Of which I will not speak aloud
Nor leave any written memory
Save this meager poem

Sometimes the gold of silence
Is misunderstood, its value
Unappreciated by the noisy and profane
I love you in the shadows
And with whispers
That others call a fog
But we know it as our secret place
Where intimacy
Writes all the dialogue we need.

04/05/2001

Author's Note: Cracking open the safe door and blowing past the cobwebs once again...

Posted on 04/18/2012
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