If I were a vine, a convolvulus,
I would wrap me around you to keep you near.
Of course, I could squeeze dangerously close.
But that’s probably not going to happen.
I don’t have anything for you today; I’m totally alone in my skin.
Whoever was here is gone; I’m into other arms now.
I don’t have time for listening; not listening, I have no time.
The soundtrack plays as my eyes are seeing twenty years ago.
O hai, that’s the door over there. It works. You came in that way.
Birds can hear approaching thunder. I hear you walking away.
This will pass, this will all pass. It will pass, in time, it will pass.
I need to find that memory, talk to it, and make it go away.
Accuradio just laid out a song, an oldie, golden.
I know it well: every note recalls those memories.
Memories of then, memories of you.
Summer: windows open to the breeze.
Lying naked on the couch.
Your silken skin, your careful hands.
Ah, I tried to go on a bender after you left,
But I just didn’t work. I don’t do wastrel well.
I rearranged the furniture, got a cat.
And after a while, I found another you.
But that song always gives me pause
As I get that familiar frisson, a tingle on the tongue
As I watch the scenes. Then, I laugh.
Got me, you mnemonic fox-trickster…
Wasn’t a bad thing, though, not really.