Back to life.

Back to reality.

That moment I chose to speak.

I committed psychological adultery.

I intercoursed my words; my thinking, all to your conscience.

I keep falling into oblivion.

I keep forgetting- anybody and everything not me, is not me.

 

Either I tell you or you tell me.

It’s a secret we all seed.

Whether we both saw it.

Or we tell ourselves to both keep it surreptitious.

And says on top,”none is to spill the beans.”

That alone is- broken reeve.

 

But I speak for myself.

About myself.

In my hora tertia, when I’m visited by many holy thoughts.

And it leaves my mind by my tongue to the world, it seizes to be a secret.

Though I prayed it not to be told.

It becomes a piece at my listener’s discretion.

 

I can’t tell if it is secret anymore- when it decides not to stay in my mind only; when it was seen not only by me or committed by me but seen by three.

 

 

Asford Psalms.