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by Conrad Geller
Let it be a secret, where my head,
Your hand, have rested, what our lips and thighs
Have learned, who wept, who faltered, what was said
Between the storms of passion and surprise.
Was it at midnight on a darkened beach?
A painted room? Strange, that I recall
Only how we ministered, each to each,
How tragically we parted. That is all.
Now you smile and say no touch, no kiss,
Not even a whisper passed between us two.
I know, but don't deny the edifice
Here built, the false as true as any true.
If you deny this, you will surely be
Cruelly denying all of poetry.