hem slipping up to expose my own,
a garter wrapped around my left thigh:
bruises,
fresh with conquest,
lasting impact of
your parting mouth that just
hangs there and hurts when I
shower.
wait

I’m counting
cicada shells
under the picnic table.
a gesture of presence.
Someone told me to stop replaying old voicemails and
I needed a year to pass.
I scrubbed away the last of your fingernail but I have to
ride the bite marks out.

I stick out my tongue to catch all she had.
cageless.
bold with my repentance
and ready to wash the phantomsaway.

the gray sky remembered
(wait)
she had lightning.
suddenly elucidated,
remembering:
I am the dark thing inside of me.

“prayer”