Poetry
What I Wrote Invisible on Your Arm the First Night in the Cave
C. C. Russell
Now that years
are going by
and we are growing
away,
you ask me
not to tell you
what it was
that I finger-drew
on you
and I comply,
knowing
it was a wish
that left unheard,
that should stay in
me
as this black hole
stone
that only spawns
more wishes.