Coffee Grounds and Eggshells

I wrote the Book of Love
Sounds impossible, but it’s true

All I have left of the Book Of Love
is this letter

All I have of you
is a memory

I carried the Book Of Love around with me
and bled words into it

I poured dreams onto
paper stained with tears

I bet on love
instead of against it

The Book Of Love
is now a gift ungiven

Soon it will fill land
in a landfill somewhere

but now it lives
(for a while at least)

at the bottom
of a Glad bag

among the
coffee grounds and eggshells.