there is no mystery of me

She has never read my journal
nor found my shoe box of intimate
letters blown with a kiss into the wind
only to sail back within a lost bottle

She has never nibbled upon this
or that causing me to sigh in tones
of quivering lips and words found
in the silence of an idiosyncratic heart beat

She has never placed her palm to my cheek
tracing and tracking the written tears
that have kept secrets upon my flesh
some not even shared within the pains of me

She has never seen the candor that she
extracts from this mind and soul, nor
wrapped this man with naked calming arms
yet with her, there is no mystery of me