likeawritingdesk:

I have been carrying you 
around in my shirt pocket
you know the one,
that sits over my heart.

I have been carrying you
in my soles, shoes made of
brick since going away.

I have been carrying you
around in my books, all the
poets, I swear, they wrote
about you.

I have been carrying you
in that old locket we
found under my bed

the faded picture you asked
me who of, my reply that
I didn’t know
(it was my first love).