revolving door

there's a bobby pin on my floor
a bottle of red nail polish on the organ
a sweater here, a bus pass there
sunglasses, underwear, lip gloss, eye shadow
and a hair on the pillow, too long to be my own
little pieces of people left behind
parts of people forgotten and never missed
exhibits in a scattered collection on display
dead things really, cold and far removed
from the evenings that they came to be here
i let the objects fall where they may
undisturbed, they settle into my space
sometimes i think that i should put them all in a shoebox
for safer keeping, for when i'm old and gray
and new additions have long since stopped arriving
each item representing a night with their previous owner
a sort of lost & found
orgasm side efects
really though, i'd just like someone to stick around long enough
to say "hey, have you seen my.....?"