A black ringlet
curls to lie
at the nape of her neck,
glistening with sweat
in the evaporate moonlight …
This is what I remember
now that I cannot forget.
And tonight,
if I have forgotten her name,
I remember:
rigid wire and white lace
half-impressed in her flesh …
our soft cries, like regret,
… the enameled white clips
of her bra strap
still inscribe dimpled marks
that my kisses erase …
now that I have forgotten her face.
Originally published by Poetry Magazine
(Michael Burch)
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