you crawled up into the little space beneath my breast
into the attic of my heart
you sprayed WD-40 on the weeping hinges of its drop down ladder
and climbed into the dusty cold of feelings in storage
and braved the stench of age and rot
and found the one thing that had not been eaten
by silverfish or the occasional vagrant rodent
and carried it carefully back down the ladder
and into the warmth of my arms
where you stayed and whispered to me
about the treasure you thought you’d found.