the worst blush

 
I found them. I found them in the way the left side
of your lip curled when you were amused, the
subtle touch of a hand too wavered. I found
bloodshot eyes on the right side of your chest
and concrete walls behind each ear:
the same building blocks that made up the torn skin
under each of your finger nails.

I found a golden-brown scar on the back of your neck.
It whispered secrets that you told me
while claiming that they were just painful truths.
You smiled like the universe was happy with you.
Your smile twitched at the seams
and your eyes paused over my left cheek
before drowning in colors they
used to show me.


You brushed my cheek with
three of the knuckles from
your left hand before leaving.
I only seem to find you
when you lose
yourself.