readings

i sat in the bookstore, listening
to Ursula Le Guin reminisce
lamenting
the lack of lost lovers' names

and i thought,
that's
why i write them,
each
a pebble in my stream

words unimportant in the memories of pressing skin,
but still
i want to name them
preserve the small part of myself
that chose: you.
you, and you, and you.