(no subject)
You fall into my lap in one hundred pieces. I keep them in a jar by the bed. The jar I made for you. Sometimes when I go out I take parts of you with me. The butcher asks me how you are doing. I say fine thank you. He doesn’t know I have your smile in my pocket. The tailor asks me what you have been up to. I tell her you’ve been busy. You are all over the place these days. She doesn't know I keep your tongue in my wallet. When I see people that look sad I give them a part of you. There is a lady uptown with your eyes. A little boy down the block has your hands. It is the least I can do. At night I dump you out on the bed. I run my hands over your parts and imagine what it would be like to put you back together. What it would be like to curl your hair into my palms.