A Memory

I remember nights when my loneliness
would not let me remember my own name
When ticking clocks turned to rapping on doors
melted into the sound
of blood in a conch shell
When even my blood stopped sounding
I could tell from the knots in my back
and legs, and feet
When even the names of fresh faces
I no longer repeat
Mattered as much to me as
the wine in my stomach
Promise no sleep til forgetting.