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 rather wantonly
in a gilded Victorian Self;

then locked the door to keep me out
and threw away the key!

All the might-have-beens
and could-have-beens
and weren’ts
come back to overcast and haunt
her setting sun
and join her sad unlearnts.


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