We lost no time doing it in the mezzanine, so impulsively concealed.
Then twice more after in our limousine, so convincingly concealed.
Poetic metaphor reveals reality that otherwise can’t be perceived.
Sans metaphor, what can word mean, so deceptively concealed?
For every moon we leave behind having set foot on, another dances,
each her face hid in midnight’s screen, so painstakingly concealed.
Honor? What honor? Whose mission wasn’t to rescue nor to support,
against what belongs together coming between, so badly concealed?
Don’t take yourself so seriously, Cyn. The less you let on how much
its loss hurts, the more it’ll remain unseen, so decisively concealed.