I don't quite remember that
Pretty projection or dubious construction.
The dream that kissed with tangible lips

I cannot elicit
A lazy shape of limbs
Sprawled across threadbare blankets.
Warm hearts and cold feet.

Bookshops piled to the rafters;
Places of whispered exchanges
And smiling, arm through arm.

I can't conjure up
The taste and stain of cheap red wine,
A tongue that laughed and sung  
To Louis Armstrong, on the radio.

In cold Septembers
And aching Decembers,
Left to my reckless imagination...
I wish that I couldn’t remember.