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.