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Literature

Forgetful

I forgot what I was going to say in the confines of these pages, where you may never hear it anyway which makes it doubly forgotten, in a sense. Forgot what I was going to say Just now, it’s on the tip of my tongue And if I hazarded a guess at what it was It might still retain the shape it meant to take. Let’s see: Something about the last time we saw each other You said you liked your coffee with cream—it had to be that way; something karmic about it you said. A little light with the dark. And I forgot that I was going to say That you were a little like that as well I’d probably have to clarify that it had Nothing to do with your skin color And everything to do with you. Maybe it’s better like this; me forgetting I kinda suck with words, you say Which also reminds me you never really cared How bad they were. I forgot what I was going to say, But don’t worry, I’ll remember Eventually. (I used to try writing poetry. Might share more of these sometime.)