Faded nap

A box, forgotten, deep inside,

the velvet pile, now flat and thin.

A dusty, tired, faded tide,

where promises had once been.

The smell of old, dead perfume clings,

a ghost of vanity, released.

No precious, shining things,

just air, where secrets ceased.

Another surface, worn away,

its softness lost to time and dust.

A faded memory, come what may,

a broken promise, now mere rust.