The Memory Rush

Unmerciful times

You’re gone.
Your memories live on…
…in me.

I’m undisturbed and suddenly
your legs walk by. Defined,
thick and juicy if I recall…

The amount of times I grabbed and groped those legs
were less than I thought I had time to. I tear up.

Time is not merciful.

The memory rush of biting your inner thy and tasting your lower lips,
the moaning sounds you’d let out, all hands on those firm buttocks…
it’s exciting and sad. I arrest those tears.

Her eyes have a last look at the mirror
and she leaves with a simple goodbye,
heard only inside my mind.

A fleeting memory,
floating on my tears.

[a E.]

Photo by Mayank Dhanawade on Unsplash