we all have them
hidden in tiny shoe-boxes
in the back of our closets

occasionally we seek them out
hoping for the ***** pleasure
of relishing in the past

the good hurt
as it would seem
but we’re all
ashamed if caught
in the act

in my shoe-box there are many things
women, men,
experiences,
actions

things seemingly innocent in the moment
but warped by the ravages of time

my hands shake as I leaf through the pictures
the bleeding hearts,
the burning tears,
the stupid acts,
the stupid thoughts

ah
but these are only memories
without any true place
here in the present

I put the cover back on my
shoe-box and slide it back
into its little hidey-hole
behind some other boxes
and containers and I turn
off the light as I leave

one deep sigh
the only thing
I’ll give that shoe-box
ever again