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. . . Memories . . .


I try to memorize him
with the soft pads of my fingertips.
Closing my eyes
and slowly tracing
the cheekbones rise an gleam
the moist, fragile skin around the eyes
the jawbone
square, angled, tight
roughened by the days rentless growth.
I will my heart into my fingertips
an move them through the soft curling
hairs on the broad chest
rising and falling over the heart.
My hand moves down the hard belly
and I find
I cannot remember,
in every detail,
the line of his face
I touched only moments ago.
It has already begun to fade.

And I had wanted to hold it forever.

He strokes my arm
runs his broad fingers
down the naked cruve of my back
over the smoothness of my thigh
draped across him.
Is he trying to memorize me also?

We cannot hang on to this moment
even knowing it is the last moment.
Life pulls us
like a great tidal wave
sweeping us forward
draggin us into the perpetual present.
Our memories of this moment
will change an be shaped
by new desires and disappointments.

And I will forget I knew even this.