the deep dark recesses,
where baseboard meets skirting board.
There is a crack.
It's slight,
but it's there.
If you look.
If you clean away
the gathered warren of dust bunnies,
a-brush away the supermarket stash of web woven flies
by its hoarder owner and home of the spider.
You will see the crack...
and sticking out
is a yellow corner of paper,
cracked, crumbled and crisp
like an autumn leaf,
or cold unkissed lips.
See the paper,
tweezer it out carefully,
cautious not to rip.
Now you have the whole note.
Capture it in your fingertips,
Finely unfurl the folds.
To read a love message
So heart wrenching,
yearning in adoration and devotion,
that tears will declare and
laughter will caress,
at the infatuation of affair within.
No names to shout upon this missive.
No clues to accuse or encourage.
Is it lovers long ago?
Boy to girl?
The vice of versa?
The twain of divine?
As lad to lad, or women entwined?
The erotic of exotic?
Or vanilla pod cuddle?
Love unrequited?
Or whole-heartedly indulged?
Maybe spider to victim?
Or fly to its mother?
Or fairy to angel?
Or a charm of magic,
for you from a future love?
Bask in words beloved,
then return back to its home,
a requited action for another
to discover.
What will you find hidden in your corner?
For hidden in a corner
of any room,
the deep dark recesses,
if you look,
There is a crack.
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