Flex...

Skin too, emits memory
Scent billows, wafting through past
Yesterday's echo delights once more-
Potent though invisible.
I lick the roomy caverns of my psyche
Moistening dormant sight
Visions that have laid comatose...
...nearly forgotten,
They yawn and soon vibrate
Loosening their once more sticky state
Like lactating nipples- expressed.
I smell youth in the afternoon
In a foreign country where I once
Donned my structured attire
And daily, tied my religious blue-striped noose
The grey pinafore with perfect matching pleats,
Emphasized the stoic 'unfeeling' guilt of my
Catholicism.
Needless to say,
I appreciate those times,
Gravitate even- when they choose to rehearse
I love the clinking low-worn heels
Disturbing the quiet uniformity of still halls
Large concrete steps that beg to shred skin
This is England in my mind
An eye so worn with delight and pride
So few can compare with the richness of their own
Early eighties............
Red woven shoes, and their minuscule gold filament
Such retention, locked for years and yet easily reared
Clearly, within my own suggestions
The time spent in religious recanting
Has less to do with religion
Than it does with my own child-like intensity
Something I still feel at 38
Abandoning never-
The wish to succeed;
To continue to learn and evolve
Using memory as muscles-
To flex.