The intrusion of memories not mine

(I still wonder why you always chose that way)

Wounds soaked in brine

Years spent waiting in a two-person line

I curl up, deliberately unthinking, all the day

The intrusion of memories not mine.

Never cried; not so much as a whine

At least, that’s what I now say

Wounds soaked in brine.

But no longer have I any reason to pine

Everything flawless; an “us” instead of “they”—

The intrusion of memories not mine.

No longer drunk on another love’s wine—

I contemplate (too much), as we lay…

Wounds soaked in brine.

No, the old cannot remove the shine

Of the new, though the past I cannot slay—

The intrusion of memories not mine…

Wounds soaked in brine.