Poem

Promise me I will be secret

my poem says to me before it

reaches the front of my head

and ultimately  my hand.

 

Promise me I will be a secret

or I won't come out at all.

 

It's a shy thing my poem,

shy things my poem and me.

 

We must grow a bit in hiding,

try on our wardrobe of revisions.

 

Soon it will be perfect, I say.

Soon I will be everything

That you will be.