Love is an overpacked suitcase,

With golden, reflective ballgowns inside,

That queens and pharaohs have donned,

In the timeless dances of romance.

 

Along with the gowns, there are capes

And crowns

Beset with jewels of every color

That glint like his eyes do

 

The moment he lies

 

You see, on top are the ballgowns,

Capes,

And crowns.

 

But unpack deeper,

And you find photographs,

Hair brushes,

Old socks and shoes,

With holes in their soles.

 

The suitcase is filled to the brim now

The clothes are stuffed and compacted

So that they wrinkle and decay

Into a moth eaten, musty hospital gown.

 

The only way to save them

Is to unpack

Fold

And place them in your wardrobe.