By LJ Cadogan
my skin no better
than a graffiti stained wall
from where you tagged your name
over and over and over
until every brick was covered
in your signature mauve spray-paint
you only ever tagged me after sunset.
like all illegitimate things, I was
a secret held in the flap of gum
at the back of your mouth
before the wisdom tooth grew out
and you could say you knew better
Wells Street Journal 