Have Me You Use Me Dainty Wilder Exclusive — You

I am the light at the threshold: the phone screen in the midnight hour, the porch lamp left on for a returning figure. You have me when you see the glow and know it is for you. You use me to find your keys, to read a recipe, to send a last message before the world sleeps. Dainty light is a candle; wilder light is the flare of a breaking dawn. Exclusive light is the one left burning when everything else is off to guide someone home.

XI. You have me. You use me. Dainty, wilder, exclusive. you have me you use me dainty wilder exclusive

IV. You have me. You use me. Dainty, wilder, exclusive. I am the light at the threshold: the

X. You have me. You use me. Dainty, wilder, exclusive. Dainty light is a candle; wilder light is

IX. You have me. You use me. Dainty, wilder, exclusive.

I am a key. Not the key that turns a common lock, but the key that opens the drawer where photographs sleep. You use me in the slow ritual of turning tumblers — a quarter turn, another — and the smell of dust and vanilla rises like a memory. Dainty keys fit small locks on travel trunks; wilder keys are jagged, worn by hands that have wandered. Exclusive: a single key opens a chosen cabinet, a confidante kept inside: letters tied with twine, a concert ticket, a pressed moth wing. When you use me, you admit a past into the light.