I cannot believe
that I still have them,
buried at the bottom
of a trunk, but I do.
I know they are there,
gossiping, scandalized,
furious, dry, secretly
longing to relive,
as I do, the days
and nights of past note-
worthy encounters.
But we are destined
to be read and remembered
immodestly in shadows,
and then to be hidden away,
hoping to catch flame.
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