Reminiscence

I walk the windswept
white silent streets
as the cold grinds against
my teeth and I try
to remember exactly
how you taste,
but never did get
a decent one out of those
lovely sweet serious
lips although
they may have been met
once or twice
in passing;
or collarbones or hips
or fingers or
anything
in between and further
that haven't,
outside of some
odd humid night fantasies
at least, ones that left
me wondering if
the dream was your
fragrance and if I'd recall
it and what my subconscious
is playing at
while I still don't know
what is it that
it really wants
except to explore
the desirable depths
of you, how you taste and
everything
in between and further.