do i
know you
from somewhere?

your hand in mine
sudden like a memory
your bright eyes, clear
as crisp days

I am caught in a loop
of three moments
in your office
on my couch
and long ago in a forest

“it still feels odd to shake your hand,”
you say, echoes of it,
through time, folded

and on my couch you laugh
at the memory, eyes twinkling

did you kill me,
back then? was it me?
and did you say strangled?
I can’t recall. images
fuzzy as the grainy palimpsest
of a thou­sand gen­er­a­tions of
secur­ity tape. is that why
the one thing I can’t bear from you
is hands across my throat?
instinctual ward­ing, swift as
eyes blink in glare.

hall­ways and supermarkets
are our haunts now. you
stalk me under fluor­es­cent hum
and I laugh out from under you
squirm­ing. you are the dream feather
to my spell bone. you are the bowl to
my cup. you fit me. that simple.

together again. patterns
traced out, infin­ite variations,
subtly altered, repetitions,
our lines rehearsed, our passions
known, unknown, lim­it­less, close,
breath­less towards the cliff edge,
the car crash, unknown streets,
wrong turns, raised voices, and
hys­ter­ical alter­ca­tions over irrelevances,
epi­cycles, the dance, back and arc around,
the grand play in mini­ature, echoes again
the theme played out in minor,
just a hint: will they, this time?
and life, this act, this page:
is it time for the cur­tain call?
but I’m nowhere near done with you.
there are mid­nights of long­ing yet,
there are whis­pers of fer­vent promise
there are agon­ies and epiphanies
there are long moments to come
where I’ll hold you to my breast
until you feel safe and forgiven.

do I know you from somewhere?
I think so. I think so.