Your Arms will Remember it for Me

John Ray Bantasan

Clouds, dear, the harbinger of rain, with which seeds grow their nameless leaves along the eroded plain. Set ablaze the lamp that is your eyes, sink your fingernails at the back of my neck and let slip our age across the blankets until we lie

unclothed, like an infant fresh from the belly of a mother who has spoken the truth. With the clock, I make an enemy and you put your weight on its hands. Tick tock in the mind ripped apart, rolled across the globe that inherits shadow from the sun.

I owe you a waltz goodbye, o angel’s keep, and I shall leave my body able for the morning when I begin the leap— from the skin ever too thin to guard the bones that furiosly creak. And I may forget your lamp for eyes, your name. But

I owe you a waltz goodbye, o angel’s keep, and in the morning, your arms will remember it for me. In the morning we begin again.