Joseph Grieco

Anonymous

Our billet-doux will go unseen

They won’t publish our verse in a magazine

Valentines, birthday cards, love notes in-between. Writ lust.

                        And anonymous

 

The nudes we sketched won’t be shown

The roses we planted bloomed for us alone

Dinners we cooked, all the leftovers gone. They were marvelous.

                        And anonymous

 

Kept our love to ourselves, hid what we did

We battened the hatches and tightened the lid

Under the blankets, off the grid. Autonomous.

                        Anonymous.

 

Deep in the woods where nobody goes

It’s there the wild strawberry grows

We sleep under the mistletoe. Monogomous.

                        So anonymous.

 

But on exhibit in heaven, or maybe it’s in France?

There’s a painting, “Lovers Do Bedtime Dance”

The pride of the gallery of Unclaimed Underpants. That’s really us.

                        Anonymous.