Under the flicker of the meeting room's glow

Under the flicker of the meeting room's glow,

your voice pointed it out —

a dark smudge,

splotched like spilled ink

on the tender skin of my neck.

I touched, startled,

like finding a bruise I never fell for,

raised and stubborn, a tiny stain

that caught the harsh fluorescent eye.

That quiet mark, there all along,

hidden in plain sight,

the office light making it a stubborn shadow

I’d missed like a note skipped in a song

I thought I knew by heart.