Speak My Love

She is the needle, and foolishness
The drug.
She has punctured me a thousand times
And do I tell her?
No. I do not speak my love.
She is the sore upon my tongue
That oozes bitter blood.
I do not eat. I starve myself.
And I do not speak my love.
She is the eye that constantly fixes its gaze
Upon every secret in my hidden heart.
She knows, yes, she knows!
But I do not speak my love.
And when I sleep, she is my dream
Long unknowingly desired.
But even then, in the realm of oblivion,
I do not speak my love.