yesterday’s ardent recollections,
exposed solely during dark of night,
these, our confidential possessions
saved for the light of pending days.
More than hopeful, we hold them loosely;
tucked away for pilfered glimpses,
to divert concerns obtusely,
are these lingering remembrances
of this, our clandestine passion.
Tell me, why is this so taboo?
Why am I, for you, forbidden?
Has it ever been any more true
that hidden kisses taste much sweeter
and that ardor is best when uttered
as hushed expressions echoed with timbre
in rendezvous behind closed doors?
These subtle twists of furtive trysts,
though complete, still wanting more,
as if somehow something might be missed.
In this, our amorous absolution,
moments shared are memories cherished
and if we persist with pure intentions
dreams we believe will set, not perish.