Thursday, August 11, 2011

Wounded

There's not much left to say, except
that one could be wounded and recollect
the days that once filled us; upon
moments we both once smiled on.

I hope you never fade from my memory,
even though I know deep inside 
that it has already begun happening.
I cannot remember the length of your hair.
In my mind, it's long--shaggy. Greasy.
But in actuality, I have a feeling it was
a bit shorter. Trimmed. But it reality,
I haven't the faintest idea.
I don't even remember what you were wearing.
I cling to that which I have kept fresh
through repeated recollections over the past
year--and yes, it has been that long.

Oh, how dreadful it is to feel
like I have every option and reason to be able
to remember something--something important--
but not be able to.

Don't let me sleep past noon, I said,
and don't let me fall asleep. Instead,
wake me gently--as soon as the sun,
and spend the minutes well--every last one.