I saw my heart in a pawn shop and bought it back.
A bell-sound washed across the clerk, said: Free, no charge.
I cradled my repository close and wept him:
Damn you, liar! Damn you, liar!
They moved the chairs at the cafe. There is a long table there now.
How little it takes to slay an old thought, a memory!
Such gold would melt between cold hands.
I wonder sometimes who gets letters now,
whether you've run out of ribbon yet
on someone else
(oh God, God, God.)
I passed your old flame in the hall
and shared a glance:
you too, me too?
We burned low.
I don't know if your letters smell like you anymore.
I cannot find them.
I'm sure they do.
The clerk said, A beautiful girl
who smelled like letters
walked into the shop the day before you.
He said she looked sadly around
and walked out.