do you remember
the slip and slide of your
tongue against mine, the religion
you whispered against my skin, the
way we screamed holy praises in the
dead of night, a time where there
was sure to be no one
but our delightful
demons listening
to our sermons?
do you remember the
way you felt when we
were just a tangled mass of flesh
and bone — too caught up
in one another to realize
we were heading down,
down, down, towards earth
in a way that was too fast,
too inexplicably real for
comfort?
do you remember the
nights awake trembling
and wanting and having ...?
and do you — do you
remember not being
satisfied enough, staring
at my crappy ceiling in
the dark (the one with
faded glow-in-the-dark stars)
and saying dreams that weren't going
to come true anyway
in between the spaces of my ribs?
because i do, i do, i do —
i remember you and everything
about you, from the crease
in your lips to the scar above your
your eye and the way you
walked like the whole world
owed you a damned favor.
i guess my question is,
do you still love me ...?
and i could ask it, but i think
i know the answer when i see
you with her, happier than you
ever were with me and i think —
you did,
once upon a dream.
