The impression that was left
It’s not the sort of mark that reddens
arses seated long on benches.
Not a healed up scar on forehead,
shattered glass let bleed and glisten.
Might be a thing we couldn’t challenge,
& so spent many hours thinking.
It was a party you took part in,
dressed to gain all our attention.
It is a strength of certain loving,
rejection of your doubting brothers.
It will not let me go forgetting
any of these tendernesses.
