Deceiving the world



A man, a woman:
Rubric of a romance.

But deceive our biographers, if any:
Insert misleading remarks in our diaries.
Manipulate names, invent new multiple
Identities for us and don't get married.

Words are foolish, they signify nothing.
They sing.

A team of sign experts couldn't decipher
This suppressed but non-erasable love.
Hushed voices, repeated question
'Do you miss me?' over the phone or collar-bone,
Cryptic contacts of the lips, slammed doors
And unwritten letters. The way you dismiss
My tenderness is subtle, no one knows but I.
One hour we wrestle on the bed, another
On the floor. Four times a month

My bare feet feel the centre of your chest.
You know the rest.

The world might be deceived
But we're not.

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