Hidden
the broken glass bottle from yesterday's evening
mixtures of your taste and mine
hidden
the acne around my jaw
to make attractive, my words
hidden
the stutter in my recent speech
too little time to finish my sentences
hidden
the smart allocation of mundane
set ups with color coded post-its
hidden
the bones I have staked away in the garden
history, mystery and the present
hidden
the times I refused to openly tell you
the flowers have long died
hidden
I know your secret, it is along my ribs
walled with a lie and a thick scarf
hidden
in the verse lining our eyes
three years' worth of words
things one of us will not regret.
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