Hickey

I wake up at six,

finding you sleeping next to me, I give you a kiss.

You acknowledge the gesture,

and kiss the air,

before rolling over

and going back to sleep on your rear.

In front of the mirror,

I look at the scars,

Scattered around my neck,

Like a negative of the night stars.

It’s a wednesday,

We have to go to work,

got drunk anyway,

we’re quite a piece of work.

I choose a shirt,

that puts my neck as if on display,

as clear as the ash from the cigarettes,

in a white ash-tray.

And as I color my lips red,

I take a final glance,

at the marks from last night,

a sign of passionate romance.

I peck you once more before I leave

and give you a red mark of my own,

which you will realize only later,

once you’ve already hit the road.

They look at my scars,

with futile attempts to hide their surprise,

On the way to work and at it

I’m used to their eyes.

For every stare,

I can only blush

and think back at that 3AM rush.

I proudly walk along,

not quite giving a damn,

Still smelling of you,

still smelling of us,

still smelling of sex,

And those hickies on my neck.