Some people see a little red truck
That is missing a mirror.
I don't see that at all.
I see an enclave.
I see a secret place that nobody knows about
where the secrets of two beating hearts
whispered themselves to each other
in a language only we know.
How many times have we escaped
the piercing visions
and created a better world for ourselves
using only our hearts?
It's our place of refuge
from the endless volume of prying questions
and lofty low-eyed looks.
It's a wonderful place of whispering eyes,
the enclave that is missing a mirrior.