We play a secret game.
Dangerous, illicit, addictive.
So wrong.
Hidden in the shadows,
Dark, immoral, seductive.
We are captives in the game.
Meeting furtively, covertly.
With guilt.
With urgent necessity and force.
With incredible purity of passion.
The gloaming is our friend.
Will not betray us.
Keeps us fervent,
Discrete.
Groping hands grasping.
Tentative closeness and warmth.
Avoiding the light.
Needing the welcome coverlet of darkness.
This is the completion of a dream
From a sweaty tossing sleepless night
Long ago,
And once when we were young.
Lips,
Whispering of what may come.
Speaking of what never was.
What can never be.
The game is secret.
So wrong.
But it is done,
And will be done forever,
If we continue
Seeking the danger,
Glorying in the illicit,
Feeding the addiction.
We shall play the game.