every place has a past-
some older and darker than others.
tell stories of names and numbers
and we are left to guess the rest.
my history entails unrest and the
moments your glances graced me,
but I could never guess the rest.
every heart has a past.
my veins have each pumped
to the beat of your song
one time or another.
others have studied me closely,
examining my fingers and lips
searching for a cure to my indifference.
they have not read your research,
so they can never guess rest.
interdisciplinary studies unite here,
as the past presents itself
to me in the palm of your hand.
chapters about love and war,
sickness and health.
though I've studied for years
I can not pass your test,
and I am forced to guess the rest.