Remnants of my Memory

He sits at the edge of the bed

lights a cigarette

heedless of the Surgeon General’s

-warning-

me not to trouble him with philosophy,

he opens the shutters and

-light-

blinds us as we wake from a dreamless sleep.

I turn and bury my face in

-shadows-

flicker, distorted on the walls,

like spirits in a child’s nightmare and dance

-wildly-

we ran across the sand dunes, muscles aching

as we raced the

-waves-

grins, and says hello, all flashing teeth and dark eyes.

I shiver, suddenly shy as I

-burn-

down to the filter. Out goes the cigarette,

and with it, any chance of an

-answer.-