Days when the secret spots
of the reservoir
opened secrets
of skin
and reopened
until we would lie
more than walk.

Perfect android lines
of what I wanted
and you knew.

Playful.

And the smell on the wind
some days still
ten miles away

and that is the closest

I come

because that place is you

repressed.

The forcefulness of truth

and lack therein.

Sometimes I would give it all away

to have it all back.