memory is butter yellow
sweet and salty
and soft at room temperature
i spread it out
on english muffins
that can scarce contain
the sound of your voice
that movie we saw–what was it?
and that word that means that
thing
right there
on the tip of my
let the knife slip in
cut
distribute
don’t let it drip away
and chase every luminescent droplet
with your finger
Finger at the ready Mr C. Marvellous erotica.
Again, wonderful and refreshing poem. The image of spreading on an English muffin (toasted?) such an image of the limits of memory.