I am not worried about what you hide
from me; you’re entitled to your privacy.
I don’t insist that you have to confide
your every idiosyncrasy.
You have no secrets? What that means to me
is you’re either boring or a liar.
No one interesting can be so free
of guile or that empty of desire.
I’m not so gullible; I’m insulted
to think you’d even think I’d believe you.
Half the visible world is occulted;
it doesn’t mean the world’s false or untrue.
I know there are things you’ll never tell me;
I don’t want it all, just your honesty.
 
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