Forgotten
I've forgotten what you taste like
pressed against itchy grass
on a neighbor's lawn
or curled against hard redwood
among dead leaves that litter
a fenced-in back yard.
I've forgotten what I felt when
you pulled me close
in the heat of the back seat
of a car your friend was driving
or why, when you looked at me then,
the world seemed to fall away in pieces
I didn't think I'd ever want
to put together again.