Musty

my soul is an attic;

there are dust particles

floating

and settling

all around.

 

my memories lie,

scattered upon

decrepit, creaky shelves

and

doubtful, broken staircases.

 

I peruse the

disorganized depths

within,

and I shed light

on laughing skeletons.

 

I hear torn pictures

shouting,

“Pick me!”

sadly,

I'm an obedient fool;

 

and sure enough,

those rotten,

crude fellows

bit me

at my hand.

 

a shiver runs down

my spine;

like a lover

tracing shapes

over my bare back.

 

the beau of my heart

calls to me

gently,

softly tickling

my cheek.

 

I call back

to him saying,

“I remember you sweetly,

I remember you

always.”

 

my sweetest moment,

and my fondest friend

he shall

remain

forever.

 

I lift the yellow,

musty photo

that's been worn from

Time's unforgiving hands.

 

I hold in my hand

all the laughter,

quick remarks and

loving glances

you gave.

 

I hold every

acrophobic word;

each one

too anxious

to take a leap from our tongues.

 

 

I affectionately

lay you back down

in the empty space;

the attic that is

my soul.

 

 

 

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