i held my love for you
in a crystalline box
placed on a shelf so high
i knew it'd never
meet your cautious eye.
i wrapped it with a
silver bow, swept off the
dust to keep it pristine;
it was a secret between
me and i, that i never quite
planned to share. still i
dared to keep it there—

one night you were mad
with a love-sickness of your own
you drove your car into my home,
into the room with the shelf so high
and suddenly that crystalline box,
it wasn't quite so bright. the loveliest
gift i never had the guts to bare, laid shattered,
shimmering in fractions of deflected light.

i swept the pieces up
as you got out of the car,
and with your hands raving about
in the air, shouting out curses about
lovers and friends and how you didn't care,
i grabbed both your hands and placed
them together, then dumped the shards
from my tray onto your skin made of leather.

you stood there with unknowing eyes,
watched as i silently began to cry.

you didn't ask me why, because
how were you supposed to know
that i had put my heart and soul
into a stupid, transparent box
that could have been used to keep my socks
instead of used to hide my love,
the love i felt so undeserving of
to give to someone as wonderfully flawed
as you?