Casanova’s Lament

It’s where we contacted that I’m bruised
Where I ground your bones against me
A small, secret mark I made with you
It has stung for days
(They always do)
And each sting is like being
With you

There is always a mark
Each one different
Each a souvenir
Each encounter, new
Each leaving me new
Leaving me different
There are no notches here
But there are bruises, there are wounds
The thing I’m not supposed to say is
This is never
To me

I have a file of faces
And I conjure you from it
With a scent
A sound
A wound
Components of a spell
To bring you to me
(Illusion, of course)

I wonder if you know
If any of you know
How long you stay with me


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