Sarara Scivyer
there are indents of our history across my body
from you there are coloured kisses tracing from my neck to my shoulder
like clay i am made of markings that you have left
there are teeth marks sunk into the tips of my fingers
and like clay there are some i cannot smudge out
your fingerprints are etched across my skin
like clay your hands have shaped my body
from you i will never escape
like clay i will always be moulded to
your touch