forgetting – Hearts Still Care

When They First Come

When they first come into your bed,
Your fear is suspended,
By the way they look at you.
Like the flaws you see
Are invisible to them.

They want to touch you;
Feed off you;
Hold you and sway you
To the rhythm of their bodies.
You feel seen.
You make love.

Time changes that –
That look that drifts into routine
Is a result of repetition.
Here, practice makes boredom;
Perfection is boring.

So you once again look in the mirror
And see what you should not have missed,
All this time.
The mirror hasn’t changed.

It starts slow.

Little things you forget to do.

Little words you forget to say.

Some thoughts die, some memories too –

Just little things.

It’s a human condition.

Let’s just attribute it to genes.

It’s like waking up to life

And forgetting all of sleep’s dreams.

It’s a recurrence of the new,

It’s a letting go of the past;

It’s another one of life’s lessons:

All good things seldom last.

Little things come in that are new:

A word of love, a laugh that rhymes,

A road that hasn’t been taken,

A blurring of drawn out lines.

People talk of love and faith and hope;

But time corrodes even diamond rings;

And they lie forgotten in the universe,

Swept off in dust as little things,

Just little things.

I shall perhaps forget
Your eyes, your hands, your touch;
I may not remember
These times so very much;

I shall perhaps forget
How you listen as I talk,
The way the your head bends
As we take our midnight walk;

I shall perhaps forget
The things you said at my lips,
Of how your breath lingered,
Or the press of your hips;

I shall perhaps forget
All the strange, hopeful dreams
I saw under the moon,
Born of its silver beams;

I shall perhaps forget
The way you made me laugh,
Of how your eyes twinkled
And broke sadness in half;

I shall perhaps forget
All that was said and done;
As time ticks its stern heart,
They’ll all fade one by one.

For I can’t bear what comes,
If I fail to forget.
There must be a letting go;
But it’s not time, not yet, not yet.