Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Memory like a(n)...


A small child with/without limits.

A heart-broken survivor

A person enamored, savoring each moment. Awaiting,
their night/knight in shining underarmour.

Mermory like a
Sunday morning, repetitive in spite of logic
A repetive type of logic, more if-thans than the
PSATs, an chronically obtrusive mother
to an only daughter, because well
"You never know, baby"

Memories that won't fade. That do hope
for change, for much of the same, for
things that do and won't go bump in the night
for lasting love, whatever
the hell that means.

For joy in a bottle... and say: Holy shit,
I remember remembering that. I remember wanting that
I remember that being what I thought I wanted

Large and looming like an elephant (if they should loom)
in a small room, a bedroom perhaps;
someplace intricate and intimate (if you know what I mean)
is reality: this is what it is. Out of your head and in
my lap.

Perhaps I'll forget it for what I wanted to recall.
But, right now, today

I see it/you.
I'll know.