Old battered box <br />in dusty attic <br /> <br />falls at my feet <br />spills out your old love letters <br /> <br />(how fortuitous) <br /> <br />like froth on a wave <br />they wash around <br /> <br />where I stand <br /> <br />now <br /> <br />the years flooding back <br /> <br />this the bric a brac <br />of how we used to be <br /> <br />the flotsam
