Box of Secrets

poetry

I have a box of secrets.
No—a vault.
Locked and securely hidden
In a closet full of skeletons
Guarded by a warped pine door
Just now beginning to open.

And while this box of secrets is real
And all its contents true,
This is more than that,
This box is just a metaphor.
And really, I’m giving you my heart.

Here’s my box of secrets
Exhumed from years of effacement
And finally the cylindrical sparkle
Flanked by joints on your velvet finger
That says I’m not who I was anymore.
Here’s my box of secrets,
Take them, they’re yours.

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