“What am I?”


I am a secret
The shadow between the hallows of two tiny thighs

The “tee hee hee” between bathroom stalls
Only toilet to another


I am the soft whistle
That man has forgotten to hear

In a language spoken only by the skies
Dancing through the trees


I am a poison laced chocolate
Soft and smooth in her mouth

But silently destroying all that dared
To whisper of a love she never understood


I am the tiled floors
Of a much hated school building

Tripping children and reflecting
All those hours of work like a mirror


I am an old man
Bent and withered with work and age

But still young enough to cry
For hopes of love


I am a dead man
Waiting patiently in my coffin

For the stirring of precious worms
And the putrescence of my own flesh.


I am a secret
With tiny glances toward the plate before me

Mentally sticking fingers down my throat
To see the pretty colors in a porcelain bowl

“What am I?”