An invisable scar on the tip of my tounge.
I would hope for her to know I can feel it.
I would wish for her to know of its pain.
I feel it nonetheless remaining unknown
to the outside.
Years go by. The scar reopens, a disgusting
taste. A filthy knowledge of a non negotiable place
the scar needing to be negotiated she recognizes.
She turns her back. An arctic blast to my scar. My eyes
search, nothing. My soul frozen.