Her head on my shoulder
as we were about to start the movie,
she said, “Let me know when I can look at your screen.
I don’t want to see any compromising information.”
I said, “To you, I’m an open book.
I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Still leaning on me, she shook her head.
“Everybody’s got something to hide.
Tell me when to open my eyes.”

I logged onto the site,
so we could chill.
While watching the sub/dom-zom-rom-com,
I wondered, “Do I have something to hide?”
and I couldn’t think of anything she did not know.

I’d already admitted to my affection for animal husbandry
and wiccan wifery.
We’d spoken about my time in the Hunduran reserves
and the space I leave available for Himalayan preserves.
I talked about the Moorcock fanfic and the Philip K Dick pics
and the barrels and barrels of hick lit.
I’d spilled about everything.

But maybe she’d chosen not to listen.
Maybe she hadn’t heard a thing.

Perhaps the only thing to do
was to speak the truth again
only louder.

“Honey,” I said, closing the laptop,
“We’ve got to talk.”