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?