Privy

The flowery words have ceased like long forgotten hieroglyphics; the language that used to please her is now only street vulgarity when she hears it from me. I wish I could find her on the campus of a small college or a hidden bookstore within the fading heart of the city or lying pretty in a mortuary. My best friend told me he saw her recently at a poetry reading or an arts theater and that she remains as breathtaking as the first flower of spring existing beside the last remnants of snow. There are mysteries I'm not privy to and portraits I'll never know.