I could count the things I'm sure of on my fingers and toes, 
and still have enough philanges left to satisfy two hands and feet. 
But my nose knows best the way you can never forget that dark, 
drugged night. 
The way you spilled your brain fluid out on the carpet, 
and placed your hand upon my lead knee, 
dead knee. 
I may have been paralyzed from the cough syrup, 
but I could feel your eyes shoveling out graves in mine, 
searching for answers and a hand to hold. 
I had no control over my body, and you could have kissed me 
while I layed there unable to move, 
but that dizzy night will always remember that you didn't. 
And we both know it's something that your tongue will regret, 
how you lost your chance to taste my vulnerability. 
It's strange to think of the way memories linger and loiter around in your day dreams, 
and intimate exchanges can turn into meaningless nothings when the day breaks. 
But that's just the way night is, 
harboring special moments and shielding the days' companions from blinding, 
raw honesty. 
It's a futile attempt to protect our hearts 
from remembering subtle hints of almost beginnings, 
from holding on to things not mutual, 
from caring all too much of unmentioned, 
unspoken conversations.