When I see someone with whom
I trusted my body,
once or often,
it remembers him.
The patterns he bit
into my chest redden again,
bruises blossom on my back,
and all of me hums
with the touch of his hands—
	a fist knotted in my hair,
	a palm heavy on my thigh
—resting in mine while we slept.
As we share drinks or
make room for one another between
tourists and businessmen
on the sidewalk, I wonder
if his scalp stings where my lips
left hushed noises,
blood wells where my fingernails caught,
or his hands remember where I am soft.
And, if they’d forgotten,
If they’d like to learn again

-Published in Litterae Magazine, Issue 2.

One thought on “Conditional

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