The Drawer

There is a beautiful life
in this drawer somewhere,
I put it away in here when you left.

I rummage for a glint of it,
pull out your birthday, anniversary,
condolence cards to me.

I put my whole arm in the draw
and feel for that beautiful life
I put away when you left.

Ah! Perhaps this is it. It has the texture of beauty, I pull it out, but no. It is only a stunning frayed recollection of you.

You always said
Or was it me
Men can never find stuff.
They never pick stuff up
or move it.
Perhaps this is why
you left.

via WordPress for Phone http://goo.gl/j6Fzhf

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