a sheet of paper
wrinkled, into a ball.
I, his latest caper
that they coined a moll.

Crumbles, a stale cookie
baking in the sun.
And I a rookie
holding the head he spun.

Crumbles as his front steps.
As I climb, I fall
into his bulging biceps.
I, his rag doll.

He crumbles, a statue
built out of stone,
with jeremiad words to chew.
I, a ***** of bones.