DOWN THE DRAIN

 

My body

my body has a memory
my body has a memory of you
my body has a memory of your skin.

My body

my body remembers
my body remembers how it bent
my body remembers how it bent to your beckoning.

And yet

my mind
my mind has washed itself
my mind has washed itself of your name

like it was no more than scum
to be scrubbed.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a re-post

11 thoughts on “DOWN THE DRAIN

  1. Jane Dougherty

    This poem makes me want to take the poet in my arms and say, not scum, just forget and ride the surf beneath a rain-washed sky. Sounds pretentious, but you get the drift ๐Ÿ™‚

      1. deuxiemepeau

        Just as your message arrives, I open Instagram and see you name on the latest Scribebase post with not one, but two of your poems to be featured in their upcoming issue! Congratulations my dearest ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿป๐Ÿค—๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘

    1. deuxiemepeau

      Wisdom is in Janeโ€™s bones and Iโ€™m grateful for it! And thankfully these poems are flashbacks from the past so, for myself, I can view them as Interesting flowers or weeds that once took their place in a bed in my garden but have seen been uprooted.

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