Trying to Remember Your Name after Amazing Sex

by Rich Boucher

I do all that I can to recall
every time I’ve been there
to witness the moment
when you met someone
for the first time; sometimes
it’s hard to hear you over the din
of doorbells and other people
in my memories; I try to rewind
these memories and stop them
right at the moment you’re about
to tell a stranger who you are,
but the mix tape inside of me
seems like it’s been recorded over
in spots with the reports of faraway guns;
I wish we lived in a home so large and grand
that every time we ran into each other
in the hallway we’d be meeting for the first time again;
I’m pretty damned wealthy because of your love
but I still think it would be fun
to have so much money
I could throw pieces of real gold
into the garbage disposal and turn it on;
I wish I could fly like a steroid hero
and carry you over the city,
then drop you just to hear you scream,
then catch you just to hear you cry
and then make you only remember
the part where I saved your life;
look at me with those eyes of yours
and try to guess what I am thinking.
You and I could live in a town
without ambulances if we wanted to.
Whatever your name is, I’d go back in time
if you were with me, that much I know.
Wait. Don’t say anything.
Don’t say anything other than please.
I know who you are now.
You’re the one I’m brave for
when it comes to big spiders on the wall,
daddy long legs behind the wine bottle on the counter;
I hope you thought my hesitation at saying your name
was simply me trying to catch my breath,
because you’d be right.

3 thoughts on “Trying to Remember Your Name after Amazing Sex

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