THE SITE OF THE SEE-THRU
Some things are better left unsaid. Here are some of them
You don't know
What you do
With the sight
Of your see-thru
You don't know
How it hurts
Looking under
Your microskirts
Every night
The same nightmare
I see myself waking
And you're not there
Every day
My dream comes true –
These rags are all that
Are left of you
The scent of perfume on the breeze
Your body put my mind at ease
One hundred years of therapy
Won't cure this sensitivity
And it goes without saying
That she comes
Without murmuring a sound
And she leaves
Without uttering a word
Some things are
Better left unsaid
Some things are
Better left unheard