smiled but never showed her teeth.
Little secrets, some of many,
kept the woman hid beneath.
Mona Lisa showed her beauty,
kept her secrets hidden well.
Leonardo knew them, sweetly,
for he was the one she'd tell.
Late nights up with quill and paper,
properties of lines and curves,
mathematics, weights and measures --
things her husband thought absurd.
Leonardo took her measure,
drew her portrait, what she showed;
didn't show her hidden treasure.
Some things only few will know.
And she kept for long years after
scraps of canvas, scribbled on,
equations written to their laughter,
their sitting paused. But not for long.