Poetry & Prose


a little box from the thrift 

heart-shaped velvet molded with gold antimony 

brought home as a treasure 

to be caressed by sunlight 

and cocooned by lazy mites. 

when i spotted you

it was amongst a host of other trinkets 

each catching only an eye, 

while you caught space on this shelf. 

am i trying to own you?

or is this an act of adoration?

you’re exalted with the chore

of staying the same forever.   

the heart has no name 

except the one that is mine.

for when you drink from my lips 

and call it sweet,

i can’t help but feel 

all too possessed.