In Remembrance of Love

 

I want to hold you close
 but I cannot see the color of your hair.

Is it black like
 Mary Poppins
 or blond, the same as your
 thighs?

Were you firm like a ballet dancer,
 my arm around your waist
 as you moved with me
 and we learned to dance
 in precise
 little
 turning
 motions?

Or were you
 soft and safe
 like sinking into
 warm darkness,
 comfortable like
 falling
 asleep?

I want to hold you in my arms
 but I cannot remember your touch.

You are an amalgam of all that I am
 and was
 and how can I possibly love
 you when I hardly know
myself.
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