I sit thinking, rocking, musing on the edge of the bed- perusing the colors of your memory blinking fractionally in my remote consciousness.  How is it that when I probe tighter, more thoroughly into your visage, trying to define the shape of your face from the faces of my dreams you tend to hide more than ever behind the noise of my thoughts? But the instant I clip into happiness you are there laughing and hugging and spreading lightness on my plaster cast life.  I suppose I need to forget this sticky fear of forgetting you.  You shape my clay life, pressing deftly upon my mind and habits like a waffle iron crisping batter.  I must not forget that I am too deeply stuck in love with you to ever bleed you from my mind.