It's not at all clandestine 

to know my thoughts are indelible.

They are like a conflagration, they are simply memorable.

Some would say I'm nocturnal but that's not really true. 

Narcoleptic, insomniac, but you have problems too.

I like the smell of fall, when it's truly august, 

Just so you don't fall back into the compunction.

And though, to you, it is completely irrelevant,

I will continue to ruminate until I am quiescent.

And I will make it inveterate.