A Firmness Left

Woke to a shade of plum

on my arm, a dull hum.

Not a punch, not a hit,

just where your fingers quit.

A quick grab,

a morning hurry,

and now this drab

mark, no need to worry,

you'd say. But it stays,

this oval print, a smudge

of your will, in days

where every touch

leaves a ridge.

A small, dark pledge.