but I'm about to
reveal
parts of you that we share:
memories.
They get tangled up in my head,
you see,
caught in a reel
playing out again and again.
I flush them out
and onto paper
so I can remember to breathe.
But since you're such a
major part,
I almost feel like I need
to ask permission first.
Do you mind if I describe
your smile?
Does it bother you if I recall
the sparkle in your eyes?
Can I try to fit onto paper
exactly
what your touch is like,
and what it does to me?
Would you feel betrayed,
- exposed -
if I let the world read
our memories?
No comments:
Post a Comment