I Remember How It Felt


I remember how it felt
when I laid my head on your stomach,
my cheek against a soft, warm, fuzzy pillow-
with you still pulsating at my lips
having fed my appetite
with what my tastebuds believed to be
Vienna creme pie
smothered with strawberries
glazed with drizzles of hot caramel syrup
and sprinkled with slivers of sweet, dark chocolate.

I remember how it felt
when you called to me
and I came to you
drawn close in the fog
in the wide open night air
where
the world stopped only for us
and neither one wanted to begin it again.

I remember how it felt
when I had your faith
and we talked for hours,
when you believed in me
and I moved these mountains effortlessly,
when I was happy
and didn't realize it
until I could sit still
inside my mind
long enough
to throw down a line to my ruptured heart
and make ammends
that would seek to find my spirit
and bring it back to me.

Only then, could
I remember how it felt.

And I'm not certain that you realize
to what extent I'd go
and the completeness of what I would give
just to hear you say

"I remember how it felt."

9/16/98


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