The Empty Box

I wanted him to come inside,
take his socks off
and stay a while.

My box had been empty for
quite some time,
the crimson striped ribbon
frayed
from jagged fingernails
clawing for fresh testosterone.

But he couldn't quite locate
the sliding door
to my personal space.

Bumping into invisible walls
I never got around to painting.

By Sandy Sue Benitez

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