Your secrets want

to slip off my tongue,

but still, I swallow them.

I gulp them down,

hoping nobody notices

them bulge in my

throat as they travel

bellyward for digestion.

“Don’t tell a soul” you say,

yet, the discomfort

lingers, tightening its

grip until I am a snake

coiled round the debris

of your clandestine tales.

Written by

Writer, poet, storyteller. https://muckrack.com/bridget-webber-1 Author Page Amazon https://tinyurl.com/y2cgqhgv

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