The day she lost the key,
She'd checked both of her cranberry petty coat pockets,
Twice,
For she knew if she were to hold the silver stuck in her hand,
It would slip out of her fingertips effortlessly like a cloud releasing new snow.

On the day she lost the key,
She was routinely,
Taken in by his warm goodbye embrace,
As she kissed the lock with her glove covered fingertips,
And he kissed her blush colored nose,
It was just like any other day.

On the day she lost the key,
She left for work through the blanked snow.
He stayed home.
When she arrived
She took off her shoes and changed her wet socks.
He changed the locks.

On the day she lost the key,
She came home to find the raspberry front door unlocked in a welcoming matter,
The materialistic key still fit perfectly.

On the day she lost the key,
She came home to find the image behind the door locked up in an unwelcoming matter:
Tan complexion touching caramel skin.
A wine colored sweater on the floor.

On the day she lost the key,
To his heart,
She'd never realized she could've lost it.

On the day she lost the key,
She'd done everything right,
But,
She was never welcomed back home
To the one place where everything used to click.