things I thought
precious I kept
in a cubbard shut
in a box wrapped loose
in a drawer dark
infrequently fingers
tracing lines slowly
Covetously unused
the years between expanding
things I thought
precious I kept
in a corner swathed tight
in a gut soured deep
in a heart caged rattling
rarely lips-wetted
Surfacing attempts thwarted
as a dry throat swallows
everything back into place
