Afterwards

I hold you like a stain, wine-red and spread

across my bed, name hidden on my lips,

soaked somewhere beneath my skin;

I never meant to let you in, misled

again, my loose lips sinking ships,

your voice the same wine: red, spreading

over my ears, well-remembered dread

capturing my  fragile bones. My fingertips

recall you soaked beneath my skin;

despite erasing every evidential shred

you left behind, the wake of your eclipse

holds me like a stain, wine-red and spreading

a blemish over every heartstring thread.

Shame remains your mark, nondescript,

soaked somewhere beneath my skin

and sinking into my bones, embedded

in the bruises on my wrists and hips.

So I hold you like a stain, a wine-red spread

soaked somewhere beneath my skin.