That bout of amnesia you can’t really forget
But can’t seem to remember too
Like the aftershave you forgot to put on
After shaving with a Gillette razor
Strangely remaining still as a faint smell of morning pride
And though the revolving door of memory
I found familiarity meditating like a Buddhist monk
Not wanting to be awakened or disturbed

And when I tried to make sense
Like gazing at a familiar face and wanting to know
Who the person behind the features was
Or seeing a poem and wondering whose signature this was
It seems I’m always wetting myself to the high tide
Always bringing in drift wood, seaweed and plastic covers
The clutter of what is so familiar – yet so distant

And just like umami or a sixth sense
That thought grapples me feeding me tit-bits, mere scrapings
And when I find the source of my awe
At the edge of memory or on the tip of the tongue
She will disappear, like dawn teasing an eye lid
To open and swallow in a beautiful day
Only you wake up to find the ungodly hours
Swallowing you in.

And this thought is like sense without sensibility
Feeling without knowledge
Light without color, key without lock
Matter without shape

Lust with no traces of love.