Dismembered Memories

By M M   

Grandmother’s bathtub,
And a funeral pyre.
The stimuli was overwhelming
He wept over gloved hands
This was a new feeling
Not like the others
It reminded her of being on fire
Fingers deep in the flesh
He felt the finality
So sentimental, he thought
The whole ordeal.
Such sickly scents
Transferred from one memory
Knuckles in the atrium
He read her through the skin
Something akin to shame
Crept over his body but it was not his
The tragedy of forgetting befell his fingers
No longer was she with him
He rested for a moment
His fingers strumming the chordae tendineae
Blood on the latex
Never satisfied him the way they promised
It was the fragrance of their past that kept him coming back
Dislodging what did divine
He set her heart in yet another jar
And stored her with the rest

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