Tally Marks

Our skin is a cathedral
of memory.

Here is where
the cigarette
burned my finger
falling from the sky.

Here is where
the paper
bit deep into my
palm.

These are from the night
we made love on the cliff.

This is from the
crescent moon
of his fingernails,
where he dug in
and never came out.

Here is where the
names gutted me.

This is the hymn
carved onto
the inside of my cheek.

God, I pray to it more
than I should.