Catacombs

[_onlyconnect]

There is no place for this
even in the secret underworld of my thoughts.
It isn't meant to be said outloud
or in passing, in question, incredulous.
It is unspoken and unaknowledged
like interest laughing all the way to the bank.
Like a poison that spreads only when I realize it is poison.
I can't tell my friends and I can't seek counsel.
All I can do is wait, with fledgling wings
with the askant glance of the uninitiated
and peripheral flyer.
Feigned absorption, feint interest.
All of it affects me as I am as present as a monarch;
all of it effects me, for I am stained
with the wine of gossip clenching a bloom of an unwanted observation between my lips.
I once more reach out with hands to smooth
the fevered brow of passion removed,
hold the urn,
preach happenstance, patience.
A bit of history, perhaps, at the tip of my tongue.
I am more than the sum of my appearances.
I am more than unsure.
I am at last picked for the team,
a small woman left in a barrenland
refolding wings
and watching the glitter fall all around my island.
Though chains abound, none to me bind
and yet I creep the litter:
subterreanian
subserviant
insubordinate.