Erased your face, your flame,
The body's feel, the chime
of voice, even your name
Would take a dredge of memory
To resurge. And yet the blaze
Of our insanity
Can, at this distance, raise
A half-forgotten strand,
A sensual silken fichu,
A half-remembered hand
Upon the heart's scar tissue.
I feel the knife that flensed
And flayed and left me crying.
I tense again against
That ancient dying.
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