Unspoken Time to go shopping, the list is made and all the items I need are on a small page in pencil - but not the ones that I would keep close to my breasts, covered up, secret. These wants cannot be written in ink, cannot be typed, can never be entered on any hard drive. They have no season, fill no bellies with treats, slake no thirst a tongue can make known. Sometimes, in the absence of others I take them out, smother with kisses their tender necks. O, how they like that - all the attention. Like little starved children the only confusion is what to taste first. I confess my wrong doing, ask their forgiveness - but comprehension? Who can say what they know, hidden away from the light for so long? I listen - imagine the sounds are happy ones. I do not tell them the depth of my grief, how I wish they could have been chosen.