What My Blanket Has Witnessed

everything about secrets
live on the edge
in this place,
the rooms
use to be spelt with cold.
the sun knew my deeds with light
and the one who knows
saw me in the dark.
it saw me fondling
and spooning
and touching
and dipping.
everything about secrets
has been forgotten
after a cold,
after a wind,
after a night.

Ruddapoet