You said my name first,
but like so many times before,
my name was someone else's name,
my skin, someone else's skin,
my eyes, certainly my eyes,
belonged to someone else.
You said my name again,
and here I noticed my failure
to move your name from my brain,
yes, my brain to my mouth, and then my lips.
Perhaps you said my name a third time,
and I could only call you--well--you,
but it wasn't you then either.
Even now I can't help but imagine
it was you,
and it was me,
and it was my hand on your shoulder,
and it was we who walked out of the room
together.
