For sale
two red bicycles barely used
but bought with romantic
excursions and summer
picnics in mind,
hand-me-down sweaters
worn to tatters
broken in with embraces,
the knowledge that she
hates artificial cherry
flavoring but loves
the fruit itself,
six poems written in pencil
on sticky notes and saved
in a desk drawer,
the memory of salt
and apricot the scent of
her unwashed hair,
three photo albums
worth of feeling,
the knowledge that she
cannot sleep without
the security of a locked door,
a distant memory of
that time we drove all night
and I said the air
tasted like metal
but she said it was
more like blood,
boxes upon boxes of dead
dried flowers mostly daisies,
the fact that she liked
daisies best of all,
Everything must go
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