Too bad,
words shape memories
and memories shape
how you sleep,
comfortable as you forget
those two silhouettes
in the dark, giggling
under the moonlight.
You cuddle yourself
perhaps
the way my words converge
at night, forging a wall
upon another wall
of resentment.
Oh how they shape my sleep
at night
if they can, at all.
I'll cuddle myself
perhaps
the way you linger
on my skin
like an aftertaste
from a bittersweet wine.
Too bad,
your words
shape my memories.
