Curious:
I've forgotten your name but
Not the scent of your desires,
Unfolding to me like a blossom
Whose symbol remains though
The species, the genera, even the color
Are no longer in memory.
Of another, I have forgotten her eyes;
Simply the glance remains and
Its intent.  The eyes themselves
Are blank as those of statues;
Paint lost in centuries of gazing.
Now, I remember dismembered smiles,
The grazing touch of a finger,
A nipple streaking down my bare chest,
A sharp breath, a whispered laugh,
A line scribbled on tear-strewn paper,
A heated voice crying in my ears.
Curious,
What small broken debris of love
Drifts and beaches itself
When I watch the sea on
A sunless day
And begin the slow
Memory of myself.