At Mercy To the Feline

I have a habit of constricting words with a bitten tongue, chewing up & spitting out the debris of lost opportunities. Only to be left with a kumquat discontent. Her beauty wrapped her identity around my conscious mind & tongue & vowed to never part. These old habits never die. Her name was the only remnants I could ever distinguish from the bits of my regret. Somehow, still the sweetest taste I've ever known. Four years rested on the tip of my tongue. Four years struggled on the edge of my lips. All I could muster up was, "Hi, my name is ..."