Fingertip memories carve through me.
  Neck nape scratch; Shimmering sheet of liquid glass, imitation.
   As if the perfection of its surface were too unbearable to stand;
     You were forced to embed your signature.
                  While my marrow froze,
                                    I let you.
You became fossilized fragments of what has been, but never will be.  
The past has been put into a capsule we will not open, in order to preserve the sparse instants of sacredness we fear will never again reveal themselves.
                                             The imprint still aches as I attempt to regenerate.