I am nothing but lip stains
and scuff marks, old kisses
and dried up scars, your
fingerprints living beneath
the bruises
embroidered
in my skin.
I have tried to scrub away
the film of memories that
refuses to stop playing
along my nerve endings,
a song repeating
the overture, the credits,
our stories
told
all
over
again
in black and white goosebumps,
in technicolor shivers,
in worthy lives
that are never seen,
just felt,
just lived,
just breathed
and stitched into
our skin.
On repeat, this is how we
live, your lips staining my
chest over and over and over
again and again, the marks
playing across your fists,
a score singing us home
while you promise me the
moon in your hips.
trace-thornson posted this
