this is not a secret

Where can they find you?

You might not be spotted standing next to me, while I wait for 

the bus, the tram, the train, or at gate no.37 before it starts
boarding with a bored frown giving me premature wrinkles,

like my mother would exclaim.

You might not be found next to my dry, naked body, before
I rub the blueberry body butter like an incest lather. 

You might not even be seen sitting across me while I eat
momo, read gay magazines or drink dark beer after I sleepily
vandalize walls of public lavatory in style i.e.

But if they looked harder, they might just find you poised like
a crown on the alphabetical playgrounds, wearing metaphors
and similes for a grin. 

You might be seen at the corners of sentences, tucking your
shirt and pouring gin & tonic.

If they looked closely, they will find your voice vibrating
from the colorful walls of my abstractions, that gently arrange
themselves like a psychoanalyst’s dream.

If they searched for you with a microscopic heart then, they
shall find you secretly buried underneath all of these
adjectives and verbs, like the sun bottled inside a torch
light in the dark. 

@ Piotr Buczkowski