How Could I Forget My Name and The Way He Put It

In his phone my name is eleven numbers,
saved on a short win
vanishing
between
street lights
It's a loop string of secrets stood outside his apartment like a dog
It’s the pouring wine into glass behind the counter
sounds like something coming
I was named after Venice, so wet and eventually screaming underwater
Knew not to overstay my welcome,
so kept it short enough to quick step on the tongue
Flat enough to flag on the roof of the mouth
and small enough to swallow whole
I dressed it in teeth and gave it pink
unlocked lips for him to spread on the bed like a cake
I thought it was happy when dealt
in the palm of his hand,
the body of it small and white like a dove
Now I’d like to baptize myself with a new name,
one he can’t read or fold over like paper
A name that burns from the mouth,
spreads like human jam
instant and all the way to a heart
that is strong enough
to hold it