Eventually, we agreed on nothing

Another random poem brought to you by a hangover! My brain works haltingly on these days, which lends itself somehow to word jumbling. They tumble around in my head like socks in a dryer... these are the ones left behind.

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We wear our nostalgia like a perfume
forever in search of one lingering moment
(or another)

a lullaby that we glimpse in our mind
always teasing, too quick to be caught–
we never know when it will return.

but it does

it always does,
wearing thin our hearts
in that same aching place

the membrane morphs and thins

things will never be different
(or the same)

in this tapestry of memory
we wait, endlessly weaving