A secret’s born of shame and raised by fear—
too easily transformed into belief,
these narratives that somehow persevere
by day but can’t survive within the realm of sleep.
Because of you, guest-starring in my dreams,
I will awaken breathless and unsettled.
And then I’ll catch my mind concocting schemes,
though it’s never my intention to dissemble.
To whom do I deliver this purposeless
confession? That secret is still mine to keep.
Not wanting to create undue distress,
to sow what I might later have to reap.
With mincing steps, I slouch toward honesty—
enough, for now, to set this longing free.