I have forgotten your countenance

The swing in your voice

The blink of your eyes

The smile on your freckles

The scars on your knee

(that I kissed everyday)


I don’t remember a thing

The heart no more sings your name

You seem so trivial and away

The eyes seek another

And yet, I am writing for you

So, I will let our idiosyncrasies talk

Like they always have.


I am leaving this poem unfinished, like us

I cannot find more to write

You see, I don’t remember a thing

Except that, I remember it all.