POSSESSION

By Layla Kennington

a little box from the thrift heart-shaped velvet molded with gold antimony brought home as a treasure to be caressed by sunlight and cocooned by lazy mites. when i spotted you it was amongst a host of other trinkets each catching only an eye, while you caught space on this shelf. am i trying to own you? or is this an act of adoration? you’re exalted with the chore of staying the same forever. the heart has no name except the one that is mine. for when you drink from my lips and call it sweet, i can’t help but feel all too possessed.