Howard Firkin
I don’t remember faces well, it’s true.
And voice is treacherous: it comes and goes.
And smell needs trigger smells—don’t trust your nose,
but let my hands run gently over you
and I’ll identify you—guaranteed.
Let’s see, the neck is smooth, the shoulders square,
the breasts are soft, the nipples rising, formed
to perfect peaks, the belly soft and warmed
as if by rising heat, let me check there…
and now I know you: you’re the one I need.
I kiss your flesh, your perfume dances through
my head. I kiss your lips and feel your tongue
caress my lips and memories of you
wring words and music, heard, remembered, sung.
And voice is treacherous: it comes and goes.
And smell needs trigger smells—don’t trust your nose,
but let my hands run gently over you
and I’ll identify you—guaranteed.
Let’s see, the neck is smooth, the shoulders square,
the breasts are soft, the nipples rising, formed
to perfect peaks, the belly soft and warmed
as if by rising heat, let me check there…
and now I know you: you’re the one I need.
I kiss your flesh, your perfume dances through
my head. I kiss your lips and feel your tongue
caress my lips and memories of you
wring words and music, heard, remembered, sung.
