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Caroline Morris is a poet and author who hails from Philadelphia but has found a new physical and literary home in Dublin as she gets her M.Phil in Irish Writing at Trinity College Dublin. Her work wrestles with femininity, internal and interpersonal relationships, and what it means to have a body. Morris has previously been published by The Martello Journal, Green Ink Poetry, The Hyacinth Review, Beaver Magazine, and Vermilion, with two honorable mentions for the O’Hagan Poetry Prize. Twitter: @Lean_writer. IG: @Lean.writer
I used up the memory too fast,
Greedily sucking the honey from the comb.
The next day, replay of his hands and mouth
Over and
Over again,
Reigniting that deep, warm, sticky pulse and twitch —
Our minds change viscous memories every time,
Melting them into the rotting decadence of the remembering,
Not the original sugar touch.
I think of his breath on my neck and my body no longer reacts —
It feels the coarse window seat that flew me from him —
Except for my heart.
It still warms in the intellectual nectar of him,
Even with sense memory gone.
So I play the devoured night again and again,
Eyes closed and body unmoving,
Mind tracing the hexagonal remains
For the sweet sake of remembering what has gone.
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