You gave me a key
of no particular use. An old key
you picked up at an antique store
chosen from a jar of random keys. I imagine
your eyes were closed, not peeking,
fingertips gently probing inside the glass, pushing keys aside
until phantom whispers urged you to
take that key. It was the one.
You hadn’t known me then
but I imagine the key was waiting for me.
Well not me in particular. But
waiting for you. To choose. To
choose
the bearer of the key to your heart.
You unlocked so much in me, you said.
(Though I thought my contribution minor)
May you one day unlock the door
your soul searches for, you said. But with keys,
I’m an amateur. I would open doors at random; it’s my
nature. Freedom through one door. Death through another.
Goodness forbid that I lose
the key and another man find it!
No, best to hold you in my arms, kiss
you. And lock the door behind us.