For better, for worse, I will remember
in vivid detail, the way you pulled back
from kissing me to marvel, ‘that smile,’
and the small affection of your foot
against my leg as you slept, as
though we were otters, and
no current could part us if you
just kept contact.
I will pack up the apartment, and
among the strange and hollow walls, I
will sing in detail about the night
we clinked margaritas in a hotel bar,
dreamers in cahoots, and I
will remember us this way, forever,
finders, keepers.
That restaurant in Chelsea is the
one where we kissed before biking
to the ice cream shop, next to the
place where you yelled at me
until I cried, and I asked you, why
do I have to cry before you stop
yelling?
All the stories will come with me,
boxes sagging under the weight of
a hundred lives lived, loves like
petals pressed into pages, no
longer living but vibrant reminders,
I will remember it all, the lessons
like broken skin and discoveries
blood rush madness, and I’ll
tell them like a man who
has mastered the mundane
art of time travel.
michael king 