Secrets Opened

orange and fair our skin,
and next to keeping house,
our dreams vibrate,
our nocturnal pleasures
eerily oblique, those motions
toward the sun reciprocated
by furry animals looking for love,
looking for universal truths,
while all we do
is push vacuum sweepers noisily
up the stairs,
plodding
toward bathrooms,
much too dirty for guests,
our holiday friends waiting
in basements, having
only the eight ball
to knock around on pool tables,
cue sticks chalked
too harshly,
chalk dust covering carpets,
while we scramble
to dust the bookshelves,
hiding our copies
of John O'Hara lest
some guest notice
our thoughts.