“FINDING YOUR MATCH”

Love is that
grimy grey pile
of soiled socks
stinking for
weeks on end
before you
give in and toss
them to the wash.
Bleach is pretty good,
but not on some stains.
Then, there's the ones
with the tiny holes.
And you knew you shouldn't,
but you wear them anyway.
You wore them until
you wore them out
and throw them out.
Finally, you fold
what's left and come across
one loner you don't know
what to do with
when you're through.
Searching everywhere
for that match;
lost.
Where did it go?

narrative poem written on 03-09-2013 by: on mattkane.com
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