I would like to bottle this moment,
this feeling; and leave it to gather dust,
until I find that I miss the taste
of damp air, and the tickle of that last sunset.
(which was pathetic and gray)
Unfortunately this moment,
these brushes of skin, are ephemeral
and time, they say, “waits for no man.”
So, I am left only to capture this
in black and white;
which will grow yellow and be buried
under my future pile of tax receipts.
Let the years pull at my skin,
let them steal the gold from my hair;
just never let them take away my memories.