The Line I’ve Traced

The lines I’ve traced
in your back
with my fingernail
converge;
just above where your beltline is
just above the dimple
still wet from my tongue’s touch
just above the scar
from when you fell off a horse
when you were thirteen.

You once joked that you don’t tan
you burn
and that if you were any more white
you’d be clear;
transparent
translucent
and you are
you are translucent
there is some kind ethereal light around you;
fucking in your kitchen
I lose you in the light
and only find you again
when I turn you over
and see
the red lines in your back.

The lines I’ve traced
in your back
with my fingernail
serve as navigation point;
I know where I am
only in relation
to where I’ve marked you;
the mark
a gentle reminder
of you being tangibly there
in my space
after being away for so long.

It shows that you were here,
and that I was here with you.

–

Davey Ledbetter is the pseudonym of a Montreal writer who likes Leonard Cohen. A lot.