The shape of memories; are they aspirational or are they based on true tales of your most shameful thoughts?

To me, they were melodies of pitch black corridors and polka dotted papillons.

How did I know the melting days of the seventh month and how did they know me back? Did they or did I belong to anybody in that world of swirl? 

Flame has always been with me; and I regret nothing.

-s

Toronto, December 2022