Secrets

Do you hear her hearing?
Hearing, quietly,
Listen hard young man!

A pixie rings at your bell.
Had rang for you once,
Twice, whilst you were
Away.

Vexing in her ways of
Endless mirth, bright
Like the midsummer star.

Sunny, Sunny, Sunny
Day Girl you are!

Once on a carefree summer day,

She rested herself upon my knee

Like a butterfly

Happy, sweet, not at all
Erotic, but something pure and untainted
That’s been kept hidden away from the boys.

To be revealed the way she does
The upper part of her torso
Where the eye of Buddha
Sits to remind you,
She too stares into you as you
Stare into that mark.

To remind you to look up
At the beaming that shines
Brighter than any body in the mid
Day of youth’s passions past,
Or that are yet to be.

A warm summer day it was, now gone.

A sunny, sunny day, that I day-dreamed about
Before I felt the peach blossom in
My eye wither in the cold of indifference.

Dead so I thought, gone to be forgotten
Until that sunny, sunny day
With a sunny, sunny one
Such as Her who found me.

No name can be given to the feeling.

To call it love is against nature.
To say desire, lust, even worse still!

Buddha shields her breast from treacly words
Such as these.

Flowers are not fleshy like fruit.
They are something more delicate.
They are the stuff of fairy wings.
Not held on the tongue,
Nor palm, merely caressed by glances, devoid of
Any Longing, only the immediacy of the present
Moment we then shared.

No fruit is this blossom to bear. Nor is it meant too.

Only to bloom once in a while in the sun,

Then put away, like a secret candle

That it may burn the brighter,
forever as it may.

To condense a week, maybe two
Six months, a year, three years,
the rest of a lifetime!

To spread it out indefinitely without ever speaking those
Words that bury the Blossom asunder,
Forcing it to bear the Fruit, is preferable me
Thinks than trying to catch a fleeting fairy by her wings.

Better to let her come again,
to rest on your knee.

Now that Summer has returned,

Your secret is safe with me.