Marks

Two little bruises

give you away

one on my right wrist

one on my left.

Imprints of your thumbs

as you held me

like I was the only thing

keeping you afloat.

Now just smudges,

like newspaper print

but the stain of you

lingers.

I touch them

to remind myself

for one moment

I was needed.

Now I watch them

yellow

into the pink of my skin

like leaves

rotten.