I know a secret so secret
I know more
even than the man who did the thing.
Know more
even than the woman
to whom the thing was done
once the moment of telling passed
and the secret returned
to wherever she keeps
the things she chooses
not to know.
The secret is gluey acid
burning through my fingers
and I can’t put it down.
The secret is so secret
my bones knew it
even before it got told.
coffee and a blank page 