She filled herself up with roses
on which she could depend
and invited her boyfriends in;
then opened the door at the other end
and dropped them into the bin.
She shut herself up with her memories,
neatly on a shelf,
or scattered about wantonly
in a gilded Victorian Self;
then locked the door to keep me out
and threw away the keys!
All the might-have-beens
come back to overcast and haunt
her setting sun
and join her sad unlearnts.