A little secret
is but a rose
beautiful and precious
yet brittle and fragile
to be delicately grown
in a private garden
only for our eyes to see
to be looked fondly upon
as a gem
but
You
snatched it from the soil
and tossed it high
to the careless wind
beyond the fence
built by my trust
and let it shatter
into a million shimmering pieces
whose shine
mocks my loss
and cuts deeper
than glass upon skin
drawing blood from where
you can never see
again
