I wear your rings every chance I get.
I wear them because they stain my fingers
I have necklaces
they hang heavy around my neck
leaving dark green prints where they lie
twisting down my skin live ivy
chain prints held in time
captured by my very cells
trying to hang on to you.
I wear your rings because I lose things.
They fall through the cracks between here and there.
All the physical pieces, every thread of memory,
every stain that came from a story
and was patched with late night or early mornings,
emails that might have been to honest to actually send
text messages that say nothing other than
I love you.
I wear you rings
because everything else slips through my fingers.
Some things can be rebuilt
Some things can be remembered.
I never learned what those things were,
so I hold on tight
to what I have.
I wear your rings
Because they stain my fingers.
So even after I take them off
I can see the shadows of them.
Stained into my skin.
Like it was meant to be there.
Like if I tried hard enough it would never go away.