The Bookmark

I gave you that oblong bookmark 
with its little red tassle,
black and white bear,
little red heart.

If all were redeemable 
for five warm hugs, like it says,
would we try again? 
We were well-worn, freely-giving 
luke-warm harm, long clutching 
the known.

I'm glad you're not here to ask.
Some things are better left undone,
unravelled with no Post Mortem,
with the guts of the thing left inside,
neatly coiled and stashed, unsoiled.
The past should be left intact, unbroken.
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