When I hugged
her I'd always hold
on for a second
too long.
When I made love
to her
I'd take my time,
slowly moving over
every inch of her body,
taking in all she
had to give.
Every kiss and
every smile.
Each time she
made me laugh
or made me sigh with
pleasure was
carefully stowed away
deep within the
cracks
of my memory.
Hidden like
buried treasure
are the
memories I run
to when the
hopelessness
sets in.
She always did her
hair while still *******
in the morning.
We'd part ways
on the porch,
her off to work
and I back onto
the streets.
I was sure to create good
memories everyday
and to forget the bad
every night.
All this in preparation
for the day when all of the
bad I've done caught up to
me and I'd never be able
to be with her again.
Everything I did
with her I did a little
extra.
When she would sleep
I'd stay up a
little longer,
I'd get high in
the other room
and come back
in and watch her.
That's how life
is lived once
they've reached into
that space that are the
years of a young
mans life.
And ****** them
out like weeds
by the year.
There were good
times.
Sharing all we had
on a hotel bed,
the taste of her lipstick
as we drank warm
Schnapps straight from
the bottle.
I remember
watching her
watching me,
and my not
feeling the need
to flee.
And
my not feeling
so Dam alone.