It’s been a year.
Is that a new freckle?
I ask, engaged in a battle
with a mark on your forehead.
I know you inside out.
Always been so vivid,
even in the depth of it.
Now I brace,
your words armed with knives.
I’ve always had this.
Throat of stone.
That vivid memory -
it’s consumed me for years now
slowly starting to slip,
forgotten.
you,
forgotten.