Remember Me, Babe
Remember me, babe, when the clouds grow ominous and the thunder shakes the windows.
Remember me when you hear Pachelbel, and the exact moment we realized how much we both love his Canon.
Remember me when you play with Jax, and the day we picked him out and brought him home into our life as a tiny, white puppy.
Remember me when you smile, and how we saved the money to fix your perfectly imperfect smile.
Remember me when you play volleyball, and how we played together on the water’s edge.
Remember me, babe, when you watch Love Actually this Christmas.
Remember me, babe, when someone else holds you tight, and the way I folded into you at night.
Remember me, babe, when you hear the songs of the Humpbacks.
Remember me, babe, for the Oyster Bar in NYC and the hours we spent there.
Remember me, babe, for the strength in my hands, the feel of my touch; the warmth of my smile.
Remember me in Hawaii, babe, of our life there together, of how the Pacific seemed somehow bluer to us.
Remember me, babe, when the fireworks light the sky and those Friday nights at The Modern.
Remember me when you soak in the tub, of the hours we spent soaking together, laughing and lounging and embracing our heat, our warmth, our solitude.
Remember me, babe, at the Pai Gow table; and Ruth the dealer and that crazy place in Iowa.
Remember me, babe, when you wear your dolphin necklace, the one we picked out the day we did Tequila shots with that crazy Viet Nam vet bartender.
Remember me when you stand under a hot shower, and how you got cold when my tall frame blocked the stream.
Remember me, babe when you see lightning, and our first dance under a stormy Hawaiian night.
Remember me when you watch Jeopardy with dinner.
Remember me, babe, for our afternoon wandering the Japanese Gardens on Staten Island, how we marveled at the serenity, how we snuck away and made love in its shadows.
Remember me when you see the pure green of a baseball outfield under a warm, spring sun.
Remember me, babe, for hotel rooms and room service together; for massages and your morning coffee fetched — milk, one Splenda.
Remember me babe, for the love story we wrote and told in real words, not texts.
Remember me, babe, when you find a piece of blue beach glass.
Remember me, babe, when someone reminds you to see the forest through the trees.
Remember me, babe, for the print I got you for Christmas, the one with two empty beach chairs sitting side by side.
Remember me, babe, when you see something by Carol Grigg.
Remember me, babe, for those dimples you loved so much; the twinkle in my eyes that you said you’d follow anywhere.
Remember me, babe, for our tender lovemaking, our passionate sex and our all out fucking- each-other’s-brains-out moments.
Remember me when you see an angel, for you were mine.
Remember me, babe, when you read Tennyson.
Remember me when you go to Mori’s, and the hours we spent there.
Remember me, babe, when you order a very dirty Vodka martini.
Remember me, babe, when you nail something at work; remember that I taught you and remember to take the credit because it was you all along.
Remember me, babe, when you look up at the stars at night and wonder if I’m seeing the same ones.
Remember me, babe, when you finally get to Rome; how I promised to get you there and how, though you never knew it, it was where I was going to propose.
Remember me, babe.
