We should be afraid to speak the thoughts that dwell inside,
best to bury them beneath large clumps of rotting earth,
unremembered melodies turned ash by the pyre,
and wetted with the tears of half-forgetfulness;
deep secrets, dark secrets; feeding on flesh.

Do not let them burn,
lest we see a glimpse
of what lingers in the depths of an imperfectly
constructed heart.

No, we must bury it;
deconstruct desire.