deepundergroundpoetry.com
Check Your Pockets
I gave you a picture of me so you could glance at my face now and then, keep me neatly folded and nice, rest me between your fingers when you feel alone...
I wonder sometimes, where that photograph went... is it under your bed, collecting dust? Between the pages of an unfinished book? Or even scattered beneath debris in the recycling?
I hope you kept it in your back pocket, where I last saw you tuck it, neatly folded and nice... where I'll sit, waiting until the day you rediscover me, as if we're meeting each other for the very first time again...
I wonder sometimes, where that photograph went... is it under your bed, collecting dust? Between the pages of an unfinished book? Or even scattered beneath debris in the recycling?
I hope you kept it in your back pocket, where I last saw you tuck it, neatly folded and nice... where I'll sit, waiting until the day you rediscover me, as if we're meeting each other for the very first time again...
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