The water running

The water running,

hands in the suds,

and then it was there,

on the inside of my arm,

a faint purple ghost.

Not a big thing,

just a smudged oval,

the size of a thumb.

His thumb,

from when he pulled me back,

said, listen.

I hadn't seen it yesterday,

or the day before.

Just appeared,

a quiet statement

from beneath the skin.

A slow bloom,

like certain flowers

that only open at night.

A small, dark reminder,

easy to cover.

Easy to forget

until you don't.