Few poems say as much with so little. The speaker tells someone "things" and then, with an ampersand, moves straight on to playing kazoos together. We never learn what the things were. The poem keeps them private, which makes the telling feel real and a little weighty, as if it mattered more than the words could carry.
Then comes the kazoo, a silly, buzzing toy of an instrument. Setting it right after the confiding suggests that closeness here doesn't need to be solemn. Speaking honestly and playing around seem to belong to the same relationship. The past tense ("did tell," "played") gives everything a looking-back quality, and the title's "With Love Still" hints that the feeling lasts even if the moment is over.
The mood is tender, light, and slightly wistful. The speaker seems fond of this memory, and the small gap left by the slash lets the reader sense both the secrets and the laughter without being handed either.