All the while seeming cordial, he burned me–
cigarette ring on my wrist–branded my flesh, his.
I remember the mark didn’t hurt as much
as my heart when I watched his eyes flare with delight.
But the line didn’t do much to separate, simply
signified the cleft between us then. First kiss,
the hiss of soft singed skin, just for spite. . .
Years have passed and I remain apart
from that place. The scar fades away–Who knows
when the line began to blur? Who cares?
The present, future are always becoming or never there.
Am I to abandon finer things and reckon
with the fires of a burgeoning past? Burden me to find
the way or lose myself for as long as I stay.