The cuts on my legs, they don't tell anything But the marks on your throat scream of things I don't want to admit. The imprints my lips left on your palms are translucent as you try to hide them with your voice. Your words leaving third degree burns on my heart. Antiseptic memories/wash me clean. The drinks you downed loosened your jaw hinges just enough to let your real thoughts dribble forth all over my sweater. I knew/new/new burns to me. The stench of wet wool and wood stoves jog my memory to those days when I let your hands glide over my skin like pen on paper. You wrote out our future on the small of my back: FOREVER!!! I remember every detail/your lips on my knees. The way the sun set on my windowsill, casting shadows that made us UGLY when we felt, could have felt, almost felt beautiful. My greens and whites spread out before you on that tangled mass of sheets... Your hands plucking a simple progression of decending notes down the back of my dress. It was warm and smelled of ceder but I knew instinctivly, you were cold on the otherside of the door. I let you in and let you kiss me like you did or almost did that first time so long ago... I tasted iron tinged in sugar and masked my regret.