Friday, August 19, 2016

From your memoirist
the museum of magic
holds many treasures
among them the loss 
and loves in great measure
hours with you in
your crowded rooms
recording your life
in a cigarette brume
the evasions
the repetitive wanders
your weary return to
the love you remember
how did I not guess
the bread crumbs you saw
on the trail that she left you
her constant recall
of the life that was you
after days spent in
your hot crowded rooms
the kitchen walls
laden with antique spoons
avoiding the cat
who knew who knew
your history as plain as the devil
memory as sharp as
the gavel that sounds in your heart
you were always meant
to return to her ring
the woman who loved you
the boxer who came slowly
to the ultimate win
you were always meant to
unfurl silken bondage
she’s yours
you are hers
in the forever hereafter
you are ours
in that magical theater
a drink at the bar
a line in the sand
a strait jacket moment
you are ours when
we can
find a way out of the ropes
the box and the past to
reconnect with great love
at last
at last
to release a white dove

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