Perversity

Perversity

I wander into your neglected garden often,
and you may not ever know.
I do it for the sheer perversity ,
of being a treacherous moon
spying on your secrets,
savouring the spice of your acrid humor
when you think I am not listening.
Your raucous laughter, suppressed laughter,
your laughter which hides nothing and reveals nothing.
You hide your treasures so meticulously
behind random thoughts which you may not ever use,
storing them away like a miser, and then I envy you , even hate you.
I want to appropriate all of your garden,
but what will I do to those indelible marks people have left
on the empty benches and the soiled walls
with those strange inks that can't be erased?
Your garden treasures them all.