Hands, Bands, and Other Trends


2. Secrets

Have I told you this, yet?

What? That this defect

That is my thoughts is pouring out

Onto the snow, into your hands now.

It's in you, this awful blight.

How will you fight

Off its appeals and its allure?

Did you think it pure?


Have I told you my secret?

I am a word that appears frequent.

I am a whispered lie told to keep you safe,

But nothing can keep my thoughts away.

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