i'm forgetting your taste and how your eyes looked when you were blinded by the sun. i'm forgetting the hours spent in flannel on sundays on mattresses in new jersey.

but i will never be without the touch of your labored hands and the smell of your breath breathing onto my face, my pillow, my hair. or kissing you cold, those wet lips as the shower beat itself down upon our heads.

i have given myself permission to begin again; to end where there is you and begin where there is me. but there will always be a safe, aching part inside me that belongs to you and everything you ever were to me. my heart will never know new hands, because yours alone will solely lay wrapped around it, finger by beautiful finger.

2001-11-02, 11:04 p.m.
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