The Museum of Desires

The Museum of Desires

Here are the thoughts you can’t have
And here are the feelings you can’t touch
Melting like pictures you can’t save
From burning buildings while you watch.

These are the loves you can’t tell,
Locked in the quarry like ice in your veins,
Like beautiful lines you didn’t spell
And beautiful scenes on a dark stage.

The hut from a past you can’t name,
An exquisite shroud embroidered with rot.
An infant skull, the horn of a ram,
The relic’s sacred martyred heart.

Here is an echo you can’t hear.
Here is a cup and here are the kisses
Counted and numbered and bound and hidden
In secret vaults and shatterproof cases.