I fight through the amnesia,
my body trying to remember
the touch of passion on its skin
that would spread a flame, lightning fast.
It reminds me of rough.
Fast and rough,
So familiar a tone from the past,
Almost like a favourite song that I forgot.
The kind that you listen to so often,
you almost hate it now.
And yet, that soft corner;
I hum along.
Scars last longer than hickeys, after all.
Halfway between a roar and a sigh,
I fall back once again.
Unable to remember what it feels like
to make love tender.
Out of grasp, it’s a crumbling memory
with my hands only drawing blood.
-the positivity of black