I pulled up my hair and you leant forward to kiss the nape of my neck. The memory is so clear, so vivid, so outside of time, that even now as I write I lift my hand to touch the spot where your mouth pressed against my skin.
I am hungry for memory, losing my foothold on scree. Hours spent looking for a long discarded letter; an afternoon to piece together shards of conversation. Was it that time you asked? Did you know what I meant when I said?
I drift into sleep deliberately recalling your cheekbone, a blade in the air as you turn to me; the flat planes of your fingernails. When you wound my hair into a knot and pulled me to you.
I stop digging, the digging easier than the stopping. AC