on my back
into the ocean or
feel the cold waves splash music throughout our
taste the desire to love from your salted tongue. I can^t embrace your warmth, but I can still remember.
I can^t listen to you pour out secrets of your past life - the dirty old man next door, your very first love so you thought, your childhood fantasies of happiness and the white doll you cherished.
I can^t fall to sleep in your massaging hands then feel you spatter my face with spitballs or
sit lower in my seat while you scold me to embarrassment on a crowded bus
or have you insult my manhood as you "just thought of something funny" in the middle of a kiss.
I can^t wreck your bike anymore, but I can still remember
I can^t wrap you in my arms in sunlight-moonlight hours of restful calm trying to distinguish nature^s fragrance from your perfume, feeling the sting from your playful hand remind me that I^m squeezing too tightly.
I can^t design with you plans for our future lives or
touch that once sensitive soul, now so unconcerned or
re-live the moments you whispered you loved me.
I can^t see your smile, but I can still remember.
I can^t walk with you from downtown to uptown to downtown until day breaks, then wipe a tear that tells me "one week will seem like forever." Don^t I know it. I can^t talk with you for hours and never tire. I can^t,
but I can still remember.
I can^t stand the cackling sound of your skull rolling ^round the wheels of a truck or feel the horror of total uselessness as you scream my name or see your lovely brown eyes sink in blood. I can^t watch you die,
but oh, God I can . . .