i remember you slicing harry & david pears
in your kitchen and feeding me
one heavenly slice at a time.
the swish of the knife as you pressed
through the skin and your thumb
in my mouth as you pushed each piece past my lips.
i remember the shiver down my back
when you kissed me, your own
lips fresh and sweet with pear juice
and craving a pear later that night
when your lips had left mine and
today i cut into a harry & david pear
and sliced my thumb with the knife.
instinctively i brought it to my lips and sucked,
the taste of warm copper and cold juice
mixing together into a new memory.
sometimes we need to overwrite. sometimes
we need to reminisce. there is no romance
in the taste of blood, but i'll take it
if it means that the next time i bite
into a pear, i won't remember you.