Poem 98, day 102: Imprint

 Imprint

 

The makeover was simple.

Nothing more required

than a disguise

of paint,

just like

a snake

shedding skin.

The ceilings shine black

and the walls,

they blink white

and I thought,

maybe,

that was the mistake.

Two, three, even

ten coats will

never hide the

mouths kissed,

bodies writhed,

nights lived in

a haze of drunken youth.

The imprints mark deeper

than cushion covers,

table tops, varnish;

they cut like

fallen stone.

 

~S L. James

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11 thoughts on “Poem 98, day 102: Imprint

  1. A remarkable poem full a sad emotions and timeless love. No matter what you do topically the memories will always be there.

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