Repressed, defended against, lost,
hidden far deep inside, the unfelt.
Secrets become an extra body part,
elusive, stubborn as a "floating rib."

A hidden self won't show on x-ray,
won't be given up in a lovers' quarrel.
Truth is the lost piece of a jigsaw puzzle,
worked deep into the thick pile carpet.

True love's picture nears completion,
with exception of the gap in the sky.
That missing cloud, or absent bird,
is love's failure to hide imperfections.

Best kept secrets are terminal funk.
No final peace ever, no true release.
Things left unsaid are not the crazy glue
keeping hearts and souls bound together.

Fists unfurling, the final piece must fall,
a welcome shape between lovers' hands,
Together, something jagged, finally fits
to the shared picture, forever their mirror.