Secret

Every night I do rumba,
With my hands behind the bushes,
Crawling feeling every bit of the nerve-
Sensitive,
A gratifying experience to one’s
Howling
embittered
Soul

I scratch my hands unto his naked flesh
I come inch by inch to
gradually
ease the pain-
It stabs me like an angry knife,
Tough and sharp

I slid my fingers inside the green and young
tresses of the grass,
the feeling means everything-
it is complete and exquisite
A silent cat having her final life

The scratch,
I love it when the woods are scarred by the scratches,
I love do to it in the shadow
I am glad to see darkness eating the light-
It screams with its head
Peeping into the hole
The tiny O,
Only the four cornered room can hear and see,
Every night…
Every night…