Monday, May 2, 2011

Memory Box

I feel you stroke sunlight 
From under my skin,
Catching nuances with your fingertips
In the curve of my spine,
Kissing small collisions
Of nature’s designs
Slowly, patiently, intimately –
Your words, oscillating
Above bedspread covers,
Loosening algorithms,
White and warm in morning wake;

How they unfurl
As if extensions of our breath,
Ebbing, so slow and bare
From a palate
Grown familiar with your cadence,
With the pauses in your language,
With the way your lips taste
When you smile.

I can feel your thoughts
Trace parallels on my tongue,
Their lines stumbling upon letters
Of another past,
Where dozens of envelopes,
Filled with pages worth a lifetime of ink,
Wait for you to open them.

If our bodies could lie
Forever in this bed,
Rereading stories to each other
By touch,
Tracing light from its refraction,
And feeling nothing
But the comfort of this simplicity,
Our hearts wouldn’t have to break into postcards
Made to fit love
In five justified lines.

But we make memory boxes
Out of our minds,
And move on from moments
Of impressing nostalgia,
Saving our ellipses for another morning
Where the sheets under which we sleep
Can once again feel like they’ve been lived in. 

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