Your mark on me has been indelible a garish entrance stamp to a club that I left long ago. I have scrubbed, I have scraped, I have painted over that mark, With new experiences, New lovers, New versions of me. But still that mark bleeds through, A dark, ugly, unrepentant, jagged brand. The one part of you That is left in me. But I have one question for you: Is this what you meant, What you hoped for, When you said I’d never get over you?