secrets

I ponder on the simplest things.
Like moles and sighs
and hushing sounds
and little girls with violent storms inside
their heads and a packet of bitter poison
inside their tongues.

I whisper of butterfly wings
and how they ruffle gently against
the flowers’ petals —
so gently their fluttering wings do not disturb
the flowers as they lie sleeping, with their heads
tucked inside their buds and under their leaves.

I ponder on the secret things.
Things we keep inside glances that only we know
what they mean. Things we bury under faint sighs
and murmurs when we sleep. Things we say
with a touch to the wrist instead of a tumble of
words without meaning.

I ponder on us. On what we have.
I ponder on who we are.

We are the secret's secrets.
A pandora of fascinating stories,
Eternally untold.