I keep your letters bundled in a clutch
of envelopes tied in a satin bow
inside a box I don't return to much.
It doesn't matter that I don't reread
your phrases: some mundane, some fervid
they're still there and I must accede
I never struck a match, have not averted
from the fact you were my first true love.
All these years later, when we've both moved
on, with our spouses and children, you're still
in the gristle of my heart, the welter
of a cryptic chamber. And, it's odd to write
but true: no matter what, you'll remain there.
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