I want to belong to you like argyle socks with worn-in heels.

 like knotted black shoe laces

like silver gum wrappers folded into triangles

like crumpled clementine peels–

I wanted to belong to you like grey blankets covering toes

like the frost that makes the earth a statue

like the tongue of a watering can

like shivering umbrellas when it sleets–

Keep me here in a wooden heart-shaped box quiet in

the second drawer of your desk.

I can hold paper clips, tic tacs, and haikus.

I can say “I love you” each time

you open the lid.

You’ll find that I saved our movie stubs

our pho noodle take out receipts

our index card love letters

And from them made a story about

rested heads and fingers through hair.