Classified Affection

I trace your presence like prints upon the glass,

invisible to most, revealed when shadows pass.

Each gesture inks a cipher I must mark,

each glance archived inside the vault of dark.

You are the evidence I cannot bring to trial,

a case that folds and dies before denial.

I draft reports in hush, sealed tight and slight,

your laughter logged and filed beneath the night.

The patterns of your speech form maps I chart,

lines drawn to compass steady rounds of heart.

You are the lead that lingers, never sealed or clear,

the riddle unsolved that time will not unpeer.

My heart: a dossier locked in sober black,

your name seeps through each line I cannot crack.

I scale the absence like a bullet’s arc,

and count the hollow hits that leave no scar or mark.

Your image loops on endless surveillance reels,

a face I keep where memory kneels.

I rehearse my questions under patient stars,

asking why affection carries only scars.

The evidence resists the truth it might confess,

the chief suspect, myself that remains in duress.

Still I log this ache as documented proof,

a love that breathes and lingers under roof.

You are the shadow threading through each hall,

the trail that draws me gently to its call.

Though I may never hold a warrant for your heart,

I shelter you in folders kept apart.

My longing runs a covert, steady, patient course,

a mission run in silence, strict with its force.

When case files soften slowly into age,

I’ll close the volume but preserve this page.

I’ll stamp the cover: Inspiration and not for show,

for unclaimed, your presence bids my sight to grow.

Unrequited, yet indispensable you remain,

the evidence I keep that justifies my pain.

(c) Thaliáh Lauren 🍂✨