The Velvet Box
I collect all my wasted hours
In a special velvet lined box.
Sometimes I take them out
Like old love letters
Just to feel the furred paper
Against my flesh
Whispering a spell that can
Only be broken by not reading them
Over and over again.
When I’m done I carefully fold them
Along the rutted creases and try
To jam them back in the box
But it gets harder every time.
One of these days I’ll run out of room
For any additional procrastinations.
Last night it took everything I had
To finally latch the lid shut.
5/28/26
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