200.365 - the box I could not touch

once you told me “Just a minute”
you reached into my heart
drew out a box and opened it
took something out
that looked like a stick
“Ah,” you said
“Just the inspiration I need”
you handed me back the box
but it slipped right through my fingers
I hollered
and you deftly caught it
you looked mildly annoyed
but stuffed it back where it belonged
and I felt like I had lost something
but in your fingers that stick
became a fountain pen
that worked as long as you wrote that next poem
then turned to ash
dribbled away
and I felt my loss more
so the next time you reached for my heart
I caught your hand
“don’t do that,” I said, “again”
you shrugged and looked disappointed
next morning you were gone
and oh I felt my loss even more