Do you remember when you danced for me in the living room of my apartment, naked but for four inch heels, swaying back and forth in the flicker of a strobe light? I lay on the ground looking up at you, remember?
Do you remember when you posed in the influence of my red bed-side lamp, so that I could take pictures of you with a borrowed digital camera? Do you remember that you watched as I deleted those pictures--or did I?
Do you remember that lazy day of having sex on your mother's bed when she was away? Spending all day naked and under the covers, curtains pulled taut?
Do you remember when you went down on me in the shower of my father's house, water dripping down your face?
Do you remember reaching to rearrange the angle of my video camera? Do you remember watching me destroy the video tape with a set of plumber's pliers because we were so angry and sure that it was over that neither of us could keep the evidence?
Do you remember regretting this after?
Do you remember being drunk and horny, and wanting to find another woman to sleep with us? Do you remember the times I held you by the throat while we had sex? Do you remember when I covered your face with a pillow? With a pillow case? The dirty things we whispered in each other's ears?
Do you remember when we fucked on the floor of my empty apartment, after I'd moved all of my things out, the carpet burning our skin? It was the last time I had sex in that apartment.
Do you remember smoking weed and fucking and eating ice cream and fucking and laughing and fucking again?
Do you remember the last time we had sex, because I don't?
Do you remember our first kiss? The dim lit upstairs lounge? My hand traveling down your back to your ass?
Do you remember, before all of this, standing on the staircase in that black and white striped dress, looking up at me and asking, "You're leaving?"
Do you remember the first time we met? That you smirked disdainfully at my joke because you didn't think it was very funny?
I remember.
I remember even if for a short time I forgot. I remember eventhough I know of the tendancy to view the past with rose-tinted fondness. I remember even when I'm in the arms of another and I don't want to.
Although I may never again touch you or taste you or feel you from within, such was the fire between us that I will always remember; I will always think of you not as an ex, but as a lover...
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