Erase Me / Remember Me

 


Erase Me / Remember Me
Your book lies open on my nightstand
page creased where your name burns black,
coffee ring still steaming,
a dark thumbprint pressed into porcelain.
Your laugh ricochets down the hallway—
wallpaper peels like old skin,
doors yawn open then snap shut
with the sound of a slammed coffin.
Erase me
remember me
I’m screaming both into the blind dark.
August snow on black shale shore,
wet denim plastered cold to our thighs,
you carved a heart in salt on my shoulder—
the tide swallowed it in one slow lick.
Your name unravels from the ink,
photos rip along our hairlines,
birthdays bleed into gray watercolor smears.
Erase me
remember me
rip the wires out,
let the colors run like blood.
Montauk dawn, wind knifing through the tracks,
gravel biting ankles—
if we stand as strangers, shoulder to shoulder,
will your ribs still tilt toward me
like a compass needle finding north?
Erase me
remember me
blank white room, no echo, no clue.
Clean slate. New sky.
If nothing is written—
will I still smell your skin in the salt air?
Will you still turn when my shadow moves?

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