The Parable of the Key

There are those who have heard about your key

And there are those who have seen pictures of it

There are those to whom you described your key

In vague terms, offering more illusion and hope

And those who think that they know it in detail

Just from the way your lips make a perfectly round giggle

When you’re generous enough to tell your key story

There are those who had a glimpse of your key

And those who have seen the key in all its splendor

There are those who have used your key only once

Although they now imagine or brag that they actually owned it

And those, perhaps drunk at the time, who can’t remember

How it felt to have your key in their possession

There are also those who have used it a lot

And can’t remember at all how they could live

Before they started using it…

And then, there are those, happy ones, who are still using

Your key, blissfully ignoring your signs of separation,

And those few mad ones who threw it away

When they couldn’t get the meaning of its two blades,

Sharp sentinels to a tumultuous realm of pure pleasure,

And finally there are those who are still dreaming

Of a key just like the one you possess,

Not even knowing that it actually exists…

And you, always dangling your key, proud of it,

Touching and caressing its random forms,

And dreading the day when you’ll be forced

To keep it in your purse, forever…