There are days I wish I could remember
what is was I said in a state of stupor
and haze. The times I tipped bottles
back and poured them into my soul
releasing demons and their lovers
into the air around me like smoke
rising. Stumbling in and out of sentences,
incoherant thoughts, and blurry vision.

There are nights I wish I could recall
what you felt like,  a bare treed forest,
wet with morning dew, and the sound
of echoing geese. We awoke
to the distant whines of lonely dogs,
and the knowledge that it would be hours
before we could meld into each other again.

The memories I have, a muffled question
to dance, an honest eyed I Love You marked
by bloodied hands, chewed puzzle pieces,
and freezing to death watching men chase
pig skin down damp turf. I lift my hands
and chase them like fireflies in the dark.
Hoping to catch them and keep them
in tiny boxes beneath my pillows.

But as butterflies do with nets, they slip
slowly through aching fingers,
like the waves tease the beach, washing
against it and then disappearing again
into murky depths. I would have let you
band me, keep me wrapped up in your
tattoos and scars. I would have fed
hungry mouthes and slipped into
secret moments stolen between sheets.

There are days I wish I could remember
what it was I said. And there are nights
I wish I could forget, what it was you told me.