Your Name

I wrote your name,

not carved on tree trunks

or monument walls,

but written through the fog

on my bathroom mirror

and on the back of my notebooks

I turned your name,

not into anagrams,

but over and over in my mouth,

my tongue toying with it for hours

leaving blisters on the insides of my cheeks

I learnt your name

by heart.

And I'm forgetting it now,

not all at once like a dream,

but slowly, one syllable at a time