Monday, July 5, 2010

Memory Foam

I pack light, knowing that I can't afford to dwell,
the only promises I make are guarantees not to stay long.

You'll barely know I've been here,
except for that vague feeling within you,
like the sound of knuckles on honeydew,
once I'm gone.  And even that will fade,
just like my face from your mind. Like my form
from the empty side of your bed.

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