Shame

[vaneramos]

Lying
age twelve
in the bottom bunk.
Through a louvered bedroom door:
the family voices.

Underneath:
the pleasure of self-touch
the unexpected rise
burst
and swallowed cry.

Later the turning away
of a mother's eye.
A father's silence.
And power diffused.

Now run
these muddled, scared
harried, hurried words.
Let us hear you
or all will go down
into shadows
fraught with secrecy.

Desire always cuts the night
sharp flicker
severing life from pain
smothered in pillows.

Too much to be silent,
never to hear the words echoed
in another's eyes,
never to see
dew misting the lids,
light breaking the heart
as summer bursts a rose.

That it will have no name
and die alone
on the edge of a narrow bed.

Comments

[dakoopst.livejournal.com]

Poignant, yet lovely.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thanks Stephen.