Luminous Trace

you abandoned us by the vendor stall,

when I was seven,

eight-seven freckles on my face

like guitar string scars on your hand.

now there are always creases on my bed

and faded ink stains on my arms.

I’ve lost the scales; my sun sign

like the clouds that disappear from your coffee

when it touches your sinful mouth.

I came of age on couch by the window,

when I was nine.

ten-nine seconds of buffering before the video starts.

they say I’ve got my destiny written in my palm,

but you wrote it with your hormonal drag.