Loss of MemoryI forgot.More Like This
It is a tragedy that I failed to remember
just how fond I am of the naked,
waiting space on a man's neck
where his clavicle meets his throat.
It is just perfect for my mouth.
I can run my imagination, and my tongue,
along the inflexible structure under the skin
delicately sink the flexible tip
into the shadowy curve behind it.
The slight tang and salty flavor
of his warm, now wet skin under my mouth-
I forgot how good it tastes, how superb it smells-
as I pursue the rest of his body with the restless
press of mine.