Hugo Desarro

The Prisoner

Two loves we have:
one that sees the light of day,
the other prisoner in the heart.
True and genuine loves,
but only one is lived,
the other dreamed—a love
too fragile and immaculate
for this besotted world;
we thrill and keep it captive.

We live our daylight love
and play the game,
with carnal tangles, honor,
and acclaim. But true devotion
lies secret in the heart
caring nothing for handsome looks
and pedigree, disdaining fame
and riches, abiding disgrace and sin.
We see it in bits and pieces,
in a smile, a gesture, a voice;
in secrets we take with us to the grave;
love too perfect for this world,
too perfect to be lived.