I Do Not Tell

I do not tell thinking of you

my tear stained pillow

where all night I have lain

weeping

or of the wind, carrying

honeysuckle from the vine beneath my window

lifting my curtain

bathing me in sweet perfume

imagining

for a moment

it is you

Coming always my desires

in fragile petalled cloaks

as soon gathered in hand

then begins their decay -

so I pray

for strength to walk past your bed

to carefully avert my eyes or

pluck them out,

to cut out my tongue

if silence threatened

for my arms to remain empty

grasping only air

I do not tell

for your absence

my praying and weeping

holding you never

for your embrace to endure.