Last night there was this girl—who reminded me of the night before.
She smiled at my jokes,
enjoyed my self-deprecation,
and touched my arm to console when I told her:
“I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m looking for something.”
This heart of mine, I can’t even keep it tucked into a sleeve.
I hand it out on business cards to all I meet.
But this one was blonde, and yesterdays was brunette.
The one on Wednesday had big aspirations,
while Tuesday had a super-human intellect.
Monday had feet that smelled,
so we took a bath together.
Sunday only wanted to dance,
So she taught me how to tango.
“We all want the same thing.” I said, as we
sprawled across the bed/
My hands caressed spines,
and kneeded collar bones.
“We want to be adored, to feel special—if only for a brief moment.”
looked away from mine/
My thumb rested on a racing pulse,
while the tips of my fingers weaved whisper-fine neck hair.
“And I can do that for you; if only for this brief moment.” I said;
as if to declare something.
But, all the while I knew.
When tomorrow came, when I saw her again,
Her glossy eyes, shivering spine, and polished neck—
None of it would remember me.
So I’ll do what I always do when reminded of the girl from the night before.
I’ll start over again.