the old couple still keep it in
the perfect spot - at the island’s end
of the kitchen counter where fingers pinched
and transferred the crumbs and bits
of chocolate onto greedy tongues
the crock long emptied of warm
sweet dough and crooked smiles
sits quietly as they walk barefoot
and bloody over the splinters of evening
the key ingredient now missing from
this tulip-shaped memory and
its gleaming ceramic surface?
fingerprints of love
though every once in awhile
around 2 am or so
the one who clings to hope
pulls off the lid and takes a peak
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