When first I knew you,
there was nothing strange.
A few bits and pieces at the bottom of the bag.
In small change, slowly but surely,
the weight of feeling had toppled on my side.
And I became
a spring around your finger,
a wax inside your hand,
a book upon the shelf.
And my puppets I stand staring,
as many the time I've watched you.
You look so well at ease,
so full of surprises and so hot fleets.
But later on,
as soon as you assumed that I knew,
after all,
I had realized
just what I'd become.
A spring around your finger,
a wax inside your hand,
a book upon the shelf.
And I became a spring around your finger,
a wax inside your hand,
a book upon the shelf.
Though eventually,
and I knew it had to come,
with a few bits and pieces at the bottom of
the bag,
we were pulled apart with only
ourselves to blame.
And that book upon the shelf won't
even
mention just what became of the spring around your finger,
a wax inside your hand,