by Robert M. Topp
My body leaves an imprint- on the mattress coils.
My bare feet have left impressions- in muddy soil.
I ran out to make angels the last time it snowed.
I've a scar beneath my lip. When I smile, it shows.
Your arms around me, nestled warm against my back.
Feeling so secure, yet, pleasingly out of whack.
Should anyone touch me in that tender spot,
They'll be surprised to find, you've already left your mark.
On my arm, a small mark from a vaccination.
Though my ring is gone, I've, still, not lost the sensation.
I have so many scars. They fade as I grow old.
I shall never lose the marks... you have made on my soul.