Shriveled Orange Peels

Do my open window panes betray too much light

And fragrance into your lawn?

Does the blurred ink on the yellowing pages 

Of my old leather clad diary burn too bright in your fireplace?

Do twigs from my memory crackle too loud

In your winter bonfire?

Does this cast of wax bother to melt too much

In your empty dark room?

Are you scared it might love you more

Than it could ever love itself?

Yet again!

But it chooses to lie aside like the shriveled orange peels

Fragrant enough for your bedside candle flame

Dry enough for you fireplace

Small enough to set up your bonfire

And soft enough to still love you against all.