He doesn't remember
all the names
of girls,
or the chemical processes
he puts in his brain.
Vein. Blue or red?

Sprawled across his bed
On-repeat in my head.
Trying to find where
I couldn't convince him
to care
to read this
to miss my kiss.

Vein. Red.
I know
because I bow
a razor across it.
Matching his blanket.
Catching my breath.