Forgetfulness is useful to the preservation of the individual. 
-- Paul Eluard

Our breath rose becoming,
with distance, only air,
an elegy written by bodies
which long for touch
the way insects crave
our thick blood. Memory
is air too thin to live on.

...

The heart, despite it's bravado,
is thick with guilt. After all,
there is blood on it's breath.

["Animals Housed in the Pleasure of Flesh" George Looney]