Funny that this would be my first poem written out of a desire to do so, and not because an English teacher forced me to. Inspiration comes from everywhere I guess. Please, critisize, don't go easy on me!
The Mark
The mark of the boy I fucked last night
still lingers on my skin
Memories of warm touches
rough hands
deep thrusts
already fading thin
And yet here he is
in that warmth
dripping
down
my
leg
The wet cold
that warmth can leave behind
The bruises
where hard bone met soft flesh
bodies faultily aligned
