Secrets begin with moments of sin
but i rarely feel guilty…
questions deceive, the subtext reveals
where this is going…?
words are nothing to the moment
unfolding…
and then it comes
just over the shoulder
that strange rush
from cover to cover
and when it comes
it feels like a lover
that strange rush
is taking me over
pleasures reside in places to hide
but i barely feel guilty
moments away from making the play
the curtain falling
motionless, i see the way it's going