Remember good things

The sounds are my music now
It gets like this
Time for the CDs and the files to rest for a while
There is a poetry to sound
Of having all of my windows down and the sound of the cars
Of the fans of my computer, water in the pipes of the house

The clatter of the keys as I type

I remember the darkness and the feel of fabric
Sliding my hand over a soft, warm figure
The sound of inhaling
The sound of lips coming together against the muscles of the neck
A candle fluttering from our movements
She’s gone
But I remember my emotions then
Like a chemical pattern that has been written to my memory
I think of it when I touch myself
Press firmly at hip and sternum and shoulder
These places and more, I keep as my secrets
Lock them up and keep them hidden
Waiting to see whom I shall give them to next