Frailty is your beauty.
Your inbuilt obsolescence
drives me to maintain you,
to hold you.
To protect you from the progress,
it comes in words.
It comes in boxes,
like a gift not chosen,
but forced upon you,
as life itself is.
A jack in the box,
a trick can of worms,
You wait until you are opened.
In stasis,
awaiting some momentary joy.
Gone too soon,
a heartbeat not followed by another.
I was not the first to touch you,
I will not be the last to hold you.