Lost a suitcase with too many love letters. Held too long and too fast. To last.
Lost my heart to the man I did not understand. So foolish a young girl. What did I know of love
to hold on to it that well? Lost socks. 147 over a lifetime. I imagine they are somewhere with him
my stalker hoarding even the ones with the hole at the big toe, sitting with needle and thread painstakingly
mending what others call refuse. I refuse
to acknowledge the one that got away. I worked too hard and long
at giving myself away and only just now have I found myself, what was lost in some infernal junk drawer of miscellany is now mine again, bedraggled, blood-parched, begging me for mercy for one more go around the bend.
Let us do it–let us gather what is lost and grasp what so far
was never ours to hold