Reminiscing Ardor

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The back of your head in the palm of my hand when we kissed

lingers in my mind like the acrid warmth of liquor on my lips —

the scent and texture of your auburn locks

smoldering as a dead fire

in the eternal winter of our long-lost relationship.

I still feel the tips of your fingers

tracing the lines of my hand

and the geography of your body —

all the soft and sensitive spots,

every scarred inch of skin.

The untamed intimacy we once shared

echoes with indifference to the bittersweet pain

I continue to feel at the mercy of your memory.

Still, the embraces we shared outweigh the heartache,

and the lessons you gave me may save me from enduring such pain again.