the things that will always make me think of you, for better or worse

there's the way light falls across skin
as it swims through the shades of a slatted window
and the dark, quiet smell
of the most secret parts of you

ceiling fans and silk sheets

the feeling of rain-wet hair,
heavy, curling with the humidity,
and clinging to my neck and forehead

the low resonance
of a deep baritone

(the songs: in my life, the curse, mrs. robinson,
the cave, we won't run, mama you've been on my mind,
annie's song)

anything that anyone's built for themselves
will inevitably draw my mind to the shadowy place
in the deep north woods
that we built for ourselves

that sensation of gentle spinning,
mixed with the slightest nausea--
the feeling of falling in love with you.

it's possible that these ties will fray,
wear thin,
perhaps even break.

but I know without doubt
that somewhere ages and ages and ages hence,
one of these tiny fragments of a memory
will work its way back into my consciousness--

when I catch the scent of something
vaguely like you
I'll sway in place as my eyes roll back
and the cup of coffee will slip from my grasp
and shatter around the toes you always thought
were stubby.