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Do you remember?

January 17, 2007

Do you remember?

I’ve decided that today is Bad Love Poetry Day in my photostream. Fear my photostream today.

I don’t even know why I wrote this. It had nothing to do with any particular heartbreak, relationship, or lady. Honest. I just started with that opening question and explored. But, of course, it ended up being a little weird and just a little bit of an accusation. And, really, the only accusations you can accurately level are the ones pointed at yourself. As Andre Maurois points out, “advice is always a confession”.

It’s also a very conscious attempt to emulate Leonard Cohen when he goes into ‘list’ mode. Whole swaths of Beautiful Losers and Death of a Ladies Man are like this…the repetition dulling you while the lyrical sensuality spikes your brainpan. Only Montrealers can get away with this and pull it off.

It’s another little chunk of writing that I keep polishing and polishing, but can never seem to get squeaky-clean. It seems everything I do has a little grit and tarnish I can’t get rid of.

Well, I’ve got better things to put my elbow-grease into. Here’s what I think the final cut should look like:

Do you remember?

Do you remember his face? Do you remember the curls you always had to brush from his eyes? Do you remember the notepad he always wrote in? The one that made him feel like Jim Morrison? Do you remember his tongue on your wounded knee? Does your blood still taste like copper strawberries?

Do you remember cheeks pressed together in the snow? Do you remember when you didn’t want to go upstairs? Do you remember the city whispering from the fire escape? Do you remember the bathroom’s peculiar echo? Do you remember the stained glass window? Do you remember our shared interest? Do you remember the maternal instinct?

Do you remember the tantrums? Do you remember the grand experiment? Do you remember the subscriptions, the meetings, the clandestine attempt? Do you remember the empty phone static? Do you remember midnight, muffled against old bedsheets? Waking to a metronome of pulse and scent?

Do you remember that old time rock and roll? Do you remember his fingers snaking around imaginary chords, lips pursed in blue? Sudden insight splashing from a drunk chord? Colliding mouths under speckled dance hall lights?

Do you remember the stalking universe, crouched against our door? Do you remember incantations, recitations, enunciations? Do you remember the leather of his mouth, the tan of his voice? His words scented with sawdust, sentences parched dry by dust?

Do you remember the infernal teasing? Just before pleasing? Do you remember the baubles? The talismans? The roll of the dice? Do you remember the perfect moment? Do you remember crushed velvet?

Do you remember?

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