In Our Memory

Let my lips record the traces on your face, The path to your bosom and the sway of your hips. Help me in case I shutter and tell me what I forgot, Whisper near my heart your favorite tips, Tiptoeing your finger with a ballerina’s grace. Let me gaze at you as did the two women of Lot And pluck one rose, two roses, three roses, Claiming both the garden and the sunset as mine, As the angels abandoned beauty to groom as before. Your cheeks change color to the same as wine, Our words rhyme, when our mouths come too close: Let me show how I memorized your sweetest lore.