Keep yourself upon a leash. . .
let it feel
much like a golden sash,
one that grows up
of giant trees,
which filter bright sun darker, denser
than does your own grown squinching prism
that skims and trims your eyelid rims
and splits to hues
between two rows
of sweet eyelash.
Keep some secrets in the cache. . .
let them be
sweet ones of love,
which will freely out one day,
when you will spread them ’round the globe
to make mark large, inimitable
bold stroked with glittery star-tipped wand,
waved with your true and personal panache.