A Drip-Dry Memory

Your hands linger now as prints upon my mind. I became a glove for your love. I gave you my tongue so you could speak a moment of ecstasy. You gave me Cauliflower Cheese, the only meal you could cook. Then when you were done with my squishy love, you left on a bus, never to return. That was back then when cakes were left out in the rain, when poets wore bell-bottoms. I recall it rained for days in our love-stained apartment. The mattress survived, but all too soon, it forgot how to talk like you used to.