Guarding against the of-late
tendency to forget completely,
I sketched the past to scale
on blue-checked graph paper,
putting into an overview perspective
the best and worst iconic moments,
all tops of heads, shoulders and cleavage,
accurate miniature snapshots,
not influenced by expression or words,
no innuendo or facial tics,
just impartial history detailed from above,
creating a rolodex dimension
for the bijou reality of the back
of the mind, index-tabbed by category,
providing easy reference for the
rem-sleep dreamer who provides the 3D quality,
plugs back in the bedroom brown eyes,
do-me cheek bones, tongue-licked lips,
that talk dirty to me voice
that sucks inhibition from the room
in the third of our existences,
the sepia toned stream of consciousness,
the cognac noir matinees
where were always our nastiest,
most run-on, most relaxed.
