They say I won’t remember this:
Your eyes searching the space between mine,
Where we converge.
I’ll not remember the feel of your fingers curled
around my thumb in sweet instinct,
Or how, being tired, I lie beside you on the floor
While you bat my face with that same palm
As if we are playing a game
And you could never see that there will be
No remembering of this
No recollection but this weak spark
That speaks time but cannot reverse it.