where lost socks go

under my bed, like

in the corner of my head
shadows swathe the remnants of my childhood

pictures of tiny feet encased in socks
fists unintentionally clenched, in
slumber interlocked

polaroids of carefree grins thrown behind thy head
burbling with laughter, unsaid
‘i love you’ s staining the tiny bed

exploding from within, the
nostalgia begins
pouring out with no holding back

two socks left feet, not quite
a pair and candies discreet
having been left unaware

for when i look to where
socks go when they’re lost
for when you no longer fill the missing parts

of the childhood memories
i lost, they lie quietly encased
in the dust that collected over the centuries

(prompt: directions to lost things)

Musings from Mnemoyne