I don’t remember your face, the way it smelled
– forehead on chin –
I squint, and take deep breaths.
I forget the sound of our voices
lobbing words, and word strings;
how they play as bed mates – laced harmonic interruptions.
The rise and fall and rise
of your chest
fall and rise,
racing with your heart’s race.
Written – just now – Tuesday, April 30th, 2013 at home, with a glass of red wine, in my pj’s.