The key

Three keys are lying

In the clean and empty

Kitchen cupboard,

Ready to be taken away

By the lady who’s

Checking the flaws,

Our flaws, the ones

We did our best to wash away

Four days in a row,

With acid and with baking soda.

Three keys aligned,

Three keys, not four:

My key had slipped

Through the hole of

My white tweed coat

Some time, long ago.

Maybe I’ll find

That missing one.

Then I would sneak

Through this door

That will lead

To a life

Which won’t be ours anymore.

The photos on the wall

Won’t show you or me or

Anyone we know.

The air won’t smell

Of the cinnamon granola

I made the day before.

You won’t be lying

Asleep on the sofa bed,

Waiting for me

To wake you up.

And still,

I might be keeping that key.

Just because

It once opened and 

Shut our world.

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