Real Memory

I will forget you. No, not everything –
Your eyes cannot be banished, nor your scent,
Your voice, the words you said, the words we meant,
The way I breathed near you, the whispering
Of music in your touch. We choose to sing,
But making sense out of our own intent
Is somehow difficult, as if we spent
Our memory on dreams, night ravelling.

I dream of you. These reveries are slow,
Dark-hued, and feckless, keeping me awake
Through long, warm nights. Real memory will go,
Played out like string; increasingly opaque,
The dreams dissolve into night; your touch, scent – no,
I will forget you, and for your own sake.

Our Hearts, part 6