Written after Gertrude Stein

If I told him would he like it. Would he like it if I told him.
I put on my beer goggles on Friday;
I put on my beer goggles on Saturday;
Sunday is my day of rest and I rest upon my pillow;
I was awake when I did it, it is not what I am proud of;
I did it anyway. Because, trapped in my train of thought,
I thought it was time; time and time again,
again I lie, I lie with you, I lie for you; hiding isn’t hard; hide my ache.
You don’t know.
You don’t know.
You don’ t know.
Still. Still, we make our own freedom. When indifferent.
Change, change me, change you, change my mind.
I will never tell.
Tell I never will.
Will I tell never?
Coffee swirls, coffee spills, coffee smells, coffee spells.
Big breath in, then.
My lips are sealed. His lips are sealed. This secret’s sealed.
Sealed under dirt. Dirt I pushed into mountains,
on the highest point; dirt of point. The point of dirt.
Dirt of Mt. Whitney.
Dirt of filth; filth of me.
I want dirt, the dirt I do; I want to dirt, to
do what I don’t want to do, I don’t do what I do want to do.
I told once, I tell now, I will tell again. Here.
I arrived.