Sandpaper Cuts

Softly grazing the corner of a memory,

one of former eros,

sandpaper recedes the finer points.

of a lover yet a distant scarecrow. 

A gentle abrasion.

midnight along the strand’s shore, 

Pagan dance ensued to raise the sun at dawn, 

we stole away to emptied mansions for the grand tour.

A night, misplaced in lore

the lover gone, forgotten. 

Those book pages fell prey to the tide, 

It’s pages faded, rotten. 

Sandpaper cuts

through most of my life. 

A slight lingering sting, 

reconciled in daily strife.

Most of my treasured collections, 

hide from the faintest light, 

stashed in bureaus and cabinets,

until at last, they stuck tight.

Yet as each sunset closes, 

sandpaper sheds my bureau’s veneer, 

wood-shavings cover my floorboards,

soon too my memories, I do fear.

Michael Carney