Do You Still Remember?

Do you still remember
the way my voice sounded
mornings
half-asleep
whispering
in your ear
those little reminders,
three words,
my promise
to start your day?

Do you still remember
my fingertips
along your spine
tracing the scars
the muscles
the tattoos
the folds of skin,
trying to commit you to memory,
my foolish heart
making sure I’d never forget?

Do you still remember
the laughter
across the room,
you in the shower
and me on the couch
telling jokes, as if
we were already each other’s
forevers, as if
time would never run
away, as if
the kisses shared like oxygen,
the love spilling from our pores
would never run
dry?

Do you still remember
all the promises we made
drunk or love-drunk,
tracing hearts
into clammy palms,
wishing on ceiling fans
and blinking airplane lights
across that tired Midwest sky?

Do you still remember
what you said—
always—
written in each kiss
because I think I’ve forgotten.

Can you remind me?