Betrayal

My motions are controlled, the

muscles too often betraying me,

are kept in tight form, away from the

eyes of the staring, eager crowds. This

treachery is not for them to know or see.

Resulting web of tension underlying

my skin, my mind, is then given up

in too-fleeting moments with you, to

see what you will make of it. Satin

blushes and fevered pitch questions.

More, you ask, and it seems it is always

there to give. Where the tendons and sinew

of my own body will not allow me freedom, I

am able to feel it release into you. The dark

eyed and hourglass design of you raised.

Even when no one else understands.
And because no one else has to.