The words are somewhere

Lost.

Here, there I seek them

So that my thoughts may lay bare

To ripen in the sun.

And then be sent to my confessor

As a profusion of paradoxes

To bewitch us both as we prepare

To take the midnight express

To dreams of improbabilities.

__ . . __

Be it just that I must thrust

My febrile mind into your uncovered thought

And trust the messenger who brought

Memories of yearnings that were concealed

For years by doubts, fears and tears

While learnings were unlearned.