i don’t know
what time or what day of the week it is.
but today or tonight or this afternoon i am consumed.
how i can’t
listen to that album anymore
without remembering
how we lie sprawled on my bed as you sang to me and played the strands of my hair like a piano,
singing words of someone much bigger than us who
probably never blinked at the notion of such mundane love.
but still the words bring back waves.

no matter
the time or the day,
i still remember.
and it still burns in the night and they day
and in the afternoon.