Messy love,
is there any other kind?
Lives entangled, untidy lives
bringing together
all the sins of the past
and questions of the future,
grief and wounds,
baggage,
trinkets wrapped
in tissue paper
yellowed by the years,
orchids pressed flat
and brown in cellophane,
trunks full of dim memories,
outgrown dreams,
and crumpled hopes
packed away and kept
like worn out clothes,
scrapbooks
with faces familiar
yet unclear
as in a dream
gathered in piles to be burned.

Before the match is struck,
rescued
as if worth an equal pile of gold
and clung to
like
an eyeless doll.