Longing is the memory
we do not have
but search for.
we do not have
but search for.
Somewhere you pass the place
where the memory was
supposed to be
where the memory was
supposed to be
As
if caught
in a current
you pass your landing
you pass your landing
On
the river
Like
a movement
Behind
you in the forest
leaving only rustling leaves.
leaving only rustling leaves.
Longing is the memory
We can’t quite remember
Like the heat of August
In the middle of December
Like the first rush of love
The very first taste of sex
You can’t quite remember
What the funhouse mirror reflects
No you can’t quite remember
What your mirror reflects
Longing is the coldest night
In the middle of
Summer
No matter what you do
There’s no way
To get warm
Memories like viruses
Eat away at your
Self completion
You’ve lost the talent
To protect yourself
From harm
Longing is the memory
We can’t quite remember
Like the heat of August
In the middle of December
Like the first rush of love
The very first taste of sex
You can’t quite remember
What the funhouse mirror reflects
No you can’t quite remember
What your mirror reflects
I’ve got a poem and some
stories
I’ve got way
too many pictures
I’ve got some stubborn suspicions
About a past that might be
real
Or not
If I could go back
Well I swear I wouldn’t
I wouldn't even try
I’ve got some stubborn suspicions
About a past that might be
real
Or not
Longing is the memory
We can’t quite remember
Like the heat of August
In the middle of December
Like the first rush of love
The very first taste of sex
You can’t quite remember
What the funhouse mirror reflects
No you can’t quite remember
What your mirror reflects
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