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.