They Won’t Be Watching Us

Three years ago came here,    
Just me alone to write.  
A poet, far and near,    
Since, hasn’t left the site.    
    
My anniversary’s today    
That I should celebrate,    
A beginning on display    
Although I think I’ll wait.    
   
’For what?’ he’’s gonna think.    
   
For years before this day,    
We’ve given each our words.    
It’s what was there before,    
It’s never been just part    
Or only one of us.    
We knew right from the start.    
   
I reach and take your hand—    
Yes, that hand, the left one.    
The hand that does the work,    
The other makes the words.    
   
And with the hand I hold    
Up to my lips, a pout    
To kiss each fingertip,    
Then suck upon the thumb.    
   
The sound the readers hear    
Is what they want to hear.    
I welcome what they hear,    
They otherwise can’t see.    
   
My lover, you and me,    
It’s only us unseen.    
The floor, the bed, the hall,    
In every place we’ve been,    
We’ve gone and done it all.    
   
And now it’s here, the time    
Within the words we’d rhyme.    
In your car, train or bus    
They won’t be watching us.