Almost

Thoughts awaken as eyes close and
night stirs daydreams in minds.
Fiction reminds of truth that resides in the
fragrances of memory.
Jasmine. Chlorine. Sweat.
The smell of an image like a word
almost remembered just at the edge of
complete, waiting to become.

Young flesh moves indistinct like
rapidly flipping pages that are vaguely
familiar; the mind’s eye squinting to bring it into focus.
The visions blurred, finding their history, become distinct.

The images tingle the tongue, the
taste of these moments readying the
belly to digest the weight of past realities.
Gastric juices churn in the mind.

Whispers and laughter, muffled and dampened, echo
through the caverns of petrified memories ,wandering
like wind far from their origin of faceless mouths.

Skin, lips, hair are stroked by the chilled
breeze of phantom breaths that vanish
with the waking of senses.