the wind
knows my secrets. it
(whispers them)
in a language
only I know.
the rhythm
r i p p l e s
across the backstage of my mind and
I catch
my breath
as familiar phrases
light upon
my
exposed skin.
I glance about
searching
the
shadows
for
the curious linguist
who might
r e v e a l
me.*(all words in this post by me, image by Angeles Balaguer from Pixabay)