Dense and oilish, a lotion coming from Colombia as the shop owner assured, translucent pink, she applied it on the knife cut on her fingertip, but the skin around her nail was so dry and thick that traces of lotion remained on it.
Lying on the hollow of your neck
leading the way to the scar
running through your back, it ends
at my fingertip coming
at the night, brittle night
broken with the promises
you don’t dare to make
you forgot you told.