Days when the secret spots

of the reservoir

opened secrets

of skin

and reopened

until we would lie

more than walk.

Perfect android lines

of what I wanted

and you knew.

Playful.

And the smell on the wind

some days still

ten miles away

and that is the closest

I come

because that place is you

repressed.

The forcefulness of truth

and lack therein.

Sometimes I would give it all away

to have it all back.