Summer '74

What are memories?
Places in your mind, little pockets of images
strung together like paperdolls
and what if the scissors slip?

I remember you,
you with the dark hair curling around your neck
and even darker eyes sparkling with mischief
while you undressed me,
first with your mind,
then with your eyes,
then with my help
Your lips burning down my neck,
fever spreading into my ears, lighting my scalp on fire,
with your breath, your kisses
making me want to slap you or kiss you, maybe swallow you
I didn't care which

It made my eyes greener
those days, in your van, at the beach
while the fishermen slid slippery worms on their hooks
and drank ice cold beers in the burning sun
while we drank cold wine and blazed
in our refuge
doing decadent things to each other
while they talked and walked all around us.

There was something disgustingly gutteral
and sensous and earthy
about you asking me over and over
how this felt, how that felt
while you slid me on your slippery hook
and singed my skin like a chile on a hot griddle
and peeled me
raw and open.