Lost and Found

The leavings of my poesy lie withered,
Crumpled beside torn lace and weathered leather.

Gathering both thoughts and clothes, I left you only snippets,
Idle glimpses missed in a loaded abandoning . . .

Fevered thoughts brought unbidden to the fore
Lying desolate on the bedroom floor--
Steaming dreams torn from notebook seams
Ragged pages ripped from reams

Never meant for eyes or ears
Those fallen tears and walled-up fears
That I have hidden many years
Fell unnoticed in our passion
Clawed aside in feral fashion,

Then, spent, and sense regained,
We separate in form—you wash and I,
Reluctant to be noticed in the gathering

Miss the final verse--
Ah, it couldn't be worse.

That page, fallen in your purse. . .