I finally dumped my 8 years old wallet and replaced it with a new one I had in my drawer (it's been there for the last 5 years). In the process of emptying out the old wallet, I found a short poem, by Lola Haskins. It's titled, "Love":
She tries it on, like a dress.
She decides it doesn't fit,
and starts to take it off.
Her skin comes, too.
This was one of two poems I had in my wallet. Not sure why I had that particular one in there, other than the fact that it's one of the most poignant poems I've ever read. Can't you just feel the unnamed woman's anguish? I am still in awe of how the last line creeps up on unsuspecting readers, only to bludgeon them so matter-of-factly in the end.