Secret

After many, many months of obedient refusal
this morning, I embraced my pen intimately
expecting to embark on a poetic walk
through the guts of an emotive poem

but her ink wrote shyly
as though she weren't quite ready
to face such imagery,
a naked landscape that bears no hills
just an overabundance of green, lush grass
(or so it would appear)

but when read on a more legible level
verses reveal something more
than just worded scenes
each blade shoulders a secret
not yet ready to be told