Lean Meat of History

Strands of hair in my memory foam pillows.

Left without slumming the door of farewell.

Stains of mixed perfume and human scent

In my blanket like yellow fur agleam in the sun.

Poked a warning of old rainy days.

And a cloud of dust rose that stayed

In the old bookshelf for a long span of time.

Token of a roller coaster ride of my history.

Now it's time for me to dust you off.