Envelopes and chewed pencils, number two,

shiny pennies in pockets left from old banks,

the curled up price tag with back of sticky glue,

a stamped card yet to be sent saying words of thanks

neatly folded silver wrappers where gum once sat

with white dust still left clinging, a lingering so sweet

grocery lists with things like eggs and food for cat

and lines of poems without a home except the empty street

stumbling through the morning paper, crossword and obits,

a slice of buttered toast goes so well with my favorite tea

motions take me to the closet to search for the outfit that fits,

a mascara mask to wear with cheer and hide the tired me

simple things, just right rings and a piece of brand new plaid,

a book of you, your face there, too, and moments in bright white,

would seem to some, not much too fun, but always make me glad

since more’s the bliss in our stolen kiss, within the precious night

a treasure of small pieces of you that I keep so close to my heart

not what I deserve, so much more, so you’ve said to me one day

but who’s to say when something so plain can be the greatest art

because, my love, these bits of you, mean more than words can say