Erase

The ecstasy of his touch has since been gone.
To remember him is the thing I've done wrong.
How could I have known of his incurable thirst?
But dwelling on those things are what causes hurt.
Perhaps I will forget, as the sun sets each day.
The taste of his lips and the look on his face.
Maybe the sins he committed shall become unclear.
And the prison of pain will release all my tears.