Homage to a lost love–the wrong one. His lips on her bare shoulders, saying they tasted like cream. New love’s mouth now, tasting wounds.
She said that’s what I want: slate truly clean. Never having been mistaken, pain inflicted and doled out, never having painted wrong, scars like colors.
Nicole Monaghan is a writer and editor. Find out more about her and her work here: http://writenic.wordpress.com/about