the sound of forgetting  is beautiful
and requires no talent ;
    all one must do is  Remain
Silent upon a beating drum
  then one must think of
BigNothings
    & one must believe in
Miracles before these events called for--->
getting grow within fields we have forgotten
but still walk upon /--_ while recognizing
all the spots where we have hidden our land-
Mines -- all within fear____&
   empty space is the sound of forgetting.

:: 03.07.2020 ::

I longingly thought of you,
but the memory of you has faded
slowly,
and led me away from you

I no longer remember
the shape of your lips,
nor the way your hands
moved when you talked

I am forgetting parts of you
with each lonesome night
I stayed awake without
your I love you’s

i've been looking for
myself so often that

i forgot about the first time
i forgot about the last time

And I'll run until I can't remember
the weight of your hands on my hips
until I can smell your shampoo
and not wish to run my hands through your hair.

I'll run until I forget
what it was like to stand still and be held
so close to your beating heart.
Until that afternoon
where I was pinned underneath you
fades completely from my memory.

Yes, I'll run and scream and fight
until I can walk beside you
without a heart of lead carving ruts in my wake
without casting glances
and admiring your beauty.
I will rage and burn
until I can see a bougainvillea
without immediately hearing your voice;
your careful singing in my shower,
your laugh, your low, stolen whispers.

And I'll keep weeping and wishing
that there were no kisses to forget,
no notes to burn or keep,
no flowers that crumble in my grasp,
no shirts that smell like you,
no jigsaw hollows where you still fit perfectly.
Wondering how long it will be
before the songs don't make me think of you
before the kitchen is just the kitchen
and my bedroom is just a bedroom.
                               before I fulfill your wish
                               and we are just friends again.

Friends who once snuck off,
held hands,
talked at midnight,
shared a bed (albeit only once)
shared favorite memories,
played guitar in the dark,
laughed at their own shy ways,
almost kissed,
almost became more.

Almost made it.

I will grind myself to dust,
if only it makes it easy to swallow
the bitter break of a first love,
a stolen heart, returned only to shatter
in my grasp. We hugged quickly, spun apart
when all I wanted is to cry and hold you
the way a dying man clings to the lifeboat.

I'll pluck these flowers,
Petal by petal.
I'll slowly remove them,
From all my stems.
Each I'll say goodbye.
Each a loss of Hi's.
One by one I'll piece a puzzle,
Out from my head and into the puddle.
Each piece from my memory.
Slowly I drift into reverie.
I'll never remember then,
those times with dents.
Until all is plucked,
then I'll be in bliss.
Yet here's a whisper,
"Au revoir, ami."

I find myself tugging on an akai ito and discovering, that either through my reluctance or its insistence, its measure endures endlessly. So I turn to Aoide, seeking to ease my mind.

     Everyday the thought of you still grasps my heart
          and will not release me.
     I am constantly searching for some sort of lyrical amnesia
          to ease this wanting.
     But each note, whether sad or sweet,
     Resonates with a hope born an eternity ago,
          for you to be endlessly entangled with my soul.

And yet again, I still ... everything.