Satin-Covered Box Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

full with invisibles.....less
faded
than the fabric which is its skin....long
in the sunlight
near
the window seat...
a refuge and refectory....
it also holds sequins, somewhat gnathonical....admittedly
immodest at times...which
stay in there...click their tiny teeth...
go
silent after a few seconds....became indolent...flat....mute...dull...
while
the memories, some truer than others..
.grown in that silk-lined hothouse....a tuneful and nurtured sequestering...
.speak........noisily,
of where they've been..
.who
they've seen.....
in
the alley
where moonlight and streetlight
confuse the waxy droop of gingola bells...
and
....the sometime wearer of sequins.....