Hold yourself Close to your beloved thorns, Bleeding your arms to be dried. You caress your wounded heart Like a pup That has lost its own mother. I believe truth Can be as changeable As the weather, As your expressions, As your form when it ages, As your fingers when they wilt Like the petals That leave, like all of life Clung upon the breast, for too long. Are your secrets In such a woman's heart Ever known, by the world and its curious inhabitants? Their eyes are upon you, Though you retreat to the shadows To erase yourself in keen modesty. Who knows you Besides those known by you? Your heart feeds fire Its forging of something new, Spawned from you, In the shaping of blue from ocean, Blue from horizon. Why do your tears leave lakes, then, If not to cover yourself in the clay Found at its rocky bottom? Does sand not ease you? Does the desert not please you?