time for spring cleaning
and my files are overstocked
with unprotected frayed edged

photos and
memos and
trinkets that
don't mean much
left all to themselves

but with you,
they exude power

as i pick up the pieces
of shoulda-been,
i still feel the pulse
coming from your penetrative
eyes, they still call out to
mine,


"I love you" . . .

and we switched to
autopilot . . .



the commanding presence
of our impatient lips
stole one forbidden
lip-lock too many,

and the vow you had taken
just didn't seem to matter
because you needed to be needed


and the need was fulfilled
that day;

that serene 15 second
kodak moment.

and all this time i have
kept that moment close
to my breast and the succulence
of your sweat is still there

after all this time
like a silly groupie
following a rock star's
motorcoach in her '67
volkswagon flower power van


now the van is in the junkyard
and creative scavengers run rampant
thru the valley of the shadow of regret,

they pick at the pieces of memoirs
as if in a collective free-for-all
spree, keeping what they want
for use in school art projects,
and leaving the rest in the recycle bin

common sense says
"move on" but try as i might
i can not bring myself to
discard the remains of the record
of our wreckless love

never could bring myself
to click that magic button
that would make it all go away

why won't these emotions

just

go

away?


they remain in those files
and even if i destroyed them,
you would still lay claim
to the negative.


© 2004 by cynth'ya lewis reed