Book of Conversations

I keep everything we ever said
in a big dust covered
red faux-leather book.

Chapter one is reserved for funny
and amusing conversation, but alas
it is less than half a paragraph
of old dried ink.

27 dried brittle pages later,
is a heading for,
"Serious Chats and Contemplation,"
which seems more like ranting,
yelling and complaining.

With a wax candle for light,
and a plumed quill
I prepare to write
in Chapter Three,
"What Her Love Means To Me."

My ink bottle may as well be dry,
as dry as the love
we let die.

This book is worthless,
and our words were wasted.

I keep everything we never said
in a big dust covered
red faux-leather book.