Sitting on a sofa with you.
I murmur in your ear,
anecdotes, secrets, tall tales
of childhood escapades, of dreams and
nightmares and wishes.

Recounting my lifetime,
trying to make it remembered
beyond myself.

The more I give to you,
it feels like spaces are opening up in my heart,
has more room to pack you in,
keep you as near as skin, nearer.

Every story I tell,
every moment I recollect,
frees a piece of memory for you
to fill with your smile, your voice, your body,
until I am made up of
a thousand different fragments of you,
a thousand different glittering facets.

All that is good about me is you.