Fugitive

Someone may well ask:

What is your secret?
All we are aware of is
the edge the question.

What could you say?
My secret is frequently searched for.
Call out our name - secret. Stop hiding!
You make me light nervous cigarettes.

What we guessed at in the dark of night.
Secrets are keeping secrets from our secrets.
They make a terrible question
dark and searched for, come alive:

Our secrets forget themselves momentarily
...Who are you: my lover?
If we could give you a name it would be easier.
It would set a wandering mind at ease.

You keep us forever undercover.
As whispers
whisper our secrets
and tell us who we are.