I have stored a handful of fine sand, that holds faint scarlet stains, from a valley that screams of war. I have borrowed a book of poems, from an insanely alluring soul, her lover now nothing but a star.
I have borrowed for forever, my mother's smile that reminds, me of good days when I look into the mirror. And I have carefully tucked, my dad's torn gumboots, his last letters a little closer and dearer.
I have stored in my front pockets, the fallen feathers of the sparrows, that taught me how to sing. And at the back of my jeans, I preserve a token of sacred love, a cheap and crooked precious ring.
My alter ego forces a few sunsets, and autumn leaves the color of coffee, into the fragile creases of my hair. And I don't store things unwilling to stay, like bad scores in tests, and the scent of spring's air.