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It's like a room in the Chelsea Hotel:
The Song Says:
"I don't think of her all that often,
but I remember her well
in the Chelsea Hotel"
And I
I don't think of
HIM
all that often.
Except,
of course,
when I do.
Those bone-knicking
gut-kick
moments
of clarity.
When I
forget
to forget
his smell.
to forget
his smell.
Or how easy
and well
I fell
into
brown eyes
where
my
reflection
shone
so fucking beautiful.
He says
"Our scars
have the power
to remind us
the past is real".
These days
I deal from a new
deck,
in a reality
that has shifted
long away
from our
old
easy lost
conjunctions.
No more
tangled
sheets
and perfect
purpose.
I function
in a new skin
and transverse
new seas,
seeing
me only in my
own eyes
and I?
I only
rarely
finger
the ridges
of scars
heavy
with his name.
All the same,
I remember.
I remember
him well.
