Sophie

My memory is awful.

Conversations, words and lyrics, history facts and math equations

fall from my brain like

pebbles from the dress of a little girl

collecting.

So why then

does the picture of you stay imprinted so

on my brain?

I can’t help but remember

the exact fit of hand in hand

the curve of finger on skin

the press of lip to lip the CPR of your mouth giving me

air and breath and life.

The poetry of your sweet nothings,

the poetry of the sweep of your face the

split second before a smile breaks

those kissing lips

forces poetry from my fingers nights and nights

after. Poetry that does no justice

to how those feelings felt

and the way they are printed

on my sinew and synapse.

I am kept awake composing

bad poetry in my head

because the thoughts of you

swirl there incessantly.

I sound frustrated as my fingers—

so recently in your hair—

try in vain to type thoughts,

but no,

what I mean to say is:

you, with your soft hair and

softer skin

with eyes that light me brighter

than mosquito torches on salty beaches

have changed my memory.

You have left your sweet-smelling

gentle-touching imprint on

the soft parts of my brain

and my muscle memory will

never let you go.

And I would trade all the history facts on the world

for memories of you.